


Slant

by Fluffifullness



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Caretaking, Durarara!! Kink Meme, M/M, Paralysis, Unrequited Love, Wheelchairs, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-08-24
Packaged: 2017-12-08 08:10:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 22,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/759098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fluffifullness/pseuds/Fluffifullness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I can’t move them,” Izaya whispers, and his eyebrows are raised slightly – concern, Shizuo realizes. Genuine fear. There’s no front, no mask of perfect omniscience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in response to a [request](http://drrrkink.livejournal.com/6253.html?thread=24628845#t24628845) on the _Durarara!!_ LJ kink meme.

If Shizuo were into wondering anything at times like this, he’d probably wonder why Izaya never gets tired of the same old routine. He’d wonder why he always lets himself be strung along like this, and he’d wonder just how many times this has happened in maybe ten years of ripping holes in the landscape of Ikebukuro.

And hell, even the variations are predictable. Sometimes he gives the flea time to piss him off with words; other times, he just yells and chases without any of those formal introductions. (Oh, he talks while he throws things, but his threats fall on deaf ears and most of his metal-and-concrete projectiles connect only with vacant sidewalk.) Sometimes it’s really been a while; others not, but Izaya usually comments on the time anyway. Says he missed Shizuo, and does the ‘protozoan’ feel the same way?

No. No, he doesn’t. The chases aren’t fun for him like they seem to be for Izaya. They’re necessary, because the alternative is letting the creep do as he pleases. Not okay.

Today – early spring, sun warm but not hot and the incoming clouds looking swollen with rain – is one of those skip-the-speech kinds of days. Shizuo’s working. He’s usually working, and Izaya just fuckin’ loves getting in his way.

Which is, of course, Shizuo’s impulsively-devised justification for the speed with which he reaches back to grab a convenience store garbage bin – not lightweight plastic, mind, but rather a chunk of steel or iron or whatever the hell these things are supposed to be made of – and then throws it without really bothering to aim. He’s seeing red; couldn’t hope to make contact even if he cared to try.

Izaya sidesteps it, of course, and a middle-aged office worker is barely lucky enough to avoid getting crushed by the makeshift weapon. He looks about ready to wet himself, and he disappears from the scene in seconds flat.

As does Izaya - one eye slipping shut in a come-hither sort of wink, and his footsteps are as frustratingly light as ever – soundless, as far as Shizuo’s concerned. The blonde’s kind of screaming a lot, though, so maybe that unfair grace is only in his head.

Meanwhile, the city whips past Shizuo faster than he can really process it all. The sun’s the only still thing, and Izaya’s not getting any closer. Sometimes – some days, that is – he does, but the blonde figures that’s only when Izaya’s okay with _almost_ being caught. The game and its rules most likely belong to that bastard. The thought drives Shizuo forward.

Izaya slips between a couple of buildings, then, to reach solid ground below. Shizuo has the foresight to rip a hunk of wire-twisted-in-brick-and-mortar building before following, and Izaya finds himself caught between that and another wall. An unusual lack of foresight on his part.

Shizuo grins.

Throws the bundle of jutting metal and cement in his rival’s general direction and –

And releases his held breath moments later as Izaya is thrown back several feet, as he is spun halfway around while his shoes slide uselessly on loose gravel and his eyes widen to show Shizuo that he’s not playing anymore.

The blonde waits. Stares. Wonders. Scoffs and shakes his head. Takes one step forward. Another. Finally close enough, he nudges the informant’s limp body with the toe of one shoe. Rolls him over, and all the time he’s braced to dodge the flash of a knife.

Izaya – face smudged with dirt and cut in one place by a stray bit of broken glass – stares serenely up at his adversary from an undignified position amidst the rubble of an unpaved alleyway. His mouth is open, his eyes narrowed slightly, and his hand comes up to search for his blade.

Shizuo doesn’t give him any time for that, of course. He leans forward and holds the informant’s hands to his chest with one hand as the other fists in his black V-neck and drags him back up to eye level – black hair held to another grimy brick wall, breath catching in his throat.

Neither of them moves.

“Lucky you, Shizu-chan,” the informant says at last. He means it.

“What’s the matter, Izaya-kun?” Shizuo jeers back. He likes this – his hand so close to the flea’s throat, and Izaya unable or unwilling to put up a fight. It’s a position that Shizuo has never found himself in before now. It’s the chance to scare Izaya away for good, to teach him a thing or two about always pissing Shizuo off. “Tired already?”

“Well, now, you certainly are a handful to take care of, but I – ” Izaya gasps, then, as he’s jerked back to be slammed again into the wall behind him.

His vision blurs, and it takes him a moment to find his voice again. “Shizu-chan’s obviously just as temperamental as ever. You know, most people can’t handle treatment this rough.”

“Shoulda thought about that before you came back to Ikebukuro.”

Izaya doesn’t respond to that obligatory line of Shizuo’s, though, and his eyes flicker down to – to what, to the ground between himself and Shizuo? His eyes fall shut, and sighs. Finally – “Right, right. I, Orihara Izaya, swear never to return here for as long as we both shall live…”

The tone is intentionally sarcastic, of course, and Shizuo tightens his grip on the informant’s hands – presses him another centimeter further into the wall, and he can feel the other man’s heart beating fast against his fingers, through the thin fabric of his shirt and his bruising skin. He can feel him struggling, muscles jerking and his head turning to the side as he focuses all of his strength on freeing himself.

“Stop messing around.”

Izaya cringes. He ceases his struggles abruptly, and his amber eyes open slightly. “What do you want from me, Shizu-chan?”

“Leave.” Obviously.

“Idiot. I can’t do that as long as you’re holding me here like this.”

Shizuo hesitates. Izaya’s still doing his damnedest to make a fool of him – of course, but Shizuo’s not going to be so easy even if the jerk does have a valid point. He pulls Izaya’s wrists up to rest where his other hand is – holds everything there against the wall with just that one limb, and with his unoccupied fingers hunts down the knife concealed in Izaya’s jacket.

He finds it, and he throws it – glinting white-almost-yellow into the middle of the street, and Izaya frowns as Shizuo’s hold on him gradually loosens.

“W-wai – ”

Too late. With nothing holding him upright, the informant collapses again to the ground at Shizuo’s feet. A muted, wounded noise fights its way past his barely-parted lips, and Shizuo blinks down at him in surprise.

“Oi, flea.” He crouches before his nemesis and studies him quietly for a moment. “What, ‘s your leg actually broken?”

“S-something like that, I suppose…”

Shizuo stands again, brushes at the few bits of gravel and debris that have managed to cling to the knees of his black pants, and continues to stare at the informant. “Huh.”

Izaya pushes himself up with his arms and sits half-glaring up at his was-opponent. “Hope you’re prepared to pay the medical bill.”

Shizuo snorts. “You deserved it.” He pauses – lights a cigarette and still his eyes don’t leave this strange victim of his – then mutters, “It’s not actually broken, anyway.”

 _How would a protozoan like you know? My pain tolerance is actually quite impressive. And why else would I still choose to remain within a hundred yards of you, Shizu-chan?_ That’s sort of what Shizuo expects to hear. Something that skirts the real purpose behind the blonde’s statement while simultaneously poking fun at him.

It’s not the response he actually gets.

“I can’t move them,” Izaya whispers, and his eyebrows are raised slightly – concern, Shizuo realizes. Genuine fear. There’s no front, no mask of perfect omniscience.

“Ah? Good luck with that, then,” and the blonde finally turns away, moves toward the brighter light at the end of the alley and casts his half-smoked cigarette aside.

“Wait,” Izaya calls.

And Shizuo does.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You reap what you sow._

No, Heiwajima Shizuo isn’t given to wondering.

He’s not interested in overthinking things like this, and if Shinra wants to stare him down like he’s never done anything crazier in all his life, then that’s _his_ deal. Whatever. The doctor knows better than to ask, at least, and Izaya says enough for all three of them – Shizu-chan this, Shizu-chan that. His fault, he’s so rough, and if only he’d make a little effort to reign himself in, things like this wouldn’t happen so often.

He doesn’t shut up until the man in question finally takes the liberty of slamming the sharp end of a street sign down within inches of his face. A whistling, hissing noise produced by man-made wind on metal, and the crack and crunch of earth swallowing the long pole. Izaya imagines that the sound is coming from his own body – his own wounds, his lower back and the spreading bruise that throbs in response to that slight provocation.

“Thanks,” Shinra mutters as the informant retreats into a silent shell – sulking, eyes narrowed to glare unforgivingly up at his assailant. The amber of his gaze is only briefly obscured as his eyes fall shut – a little wince, a lip-biting and his fingers curl into agonized fists as an unperturbed Shinra continues his ministrations.

Shizuo would like – scratch that, _love_ – to gloat over that show of weakness. He’d like to rub it all in a bit and then go on his way; he’s still got work to do, after all, and the flea really isn’t worth even this much of his time. He’s worth none of it.

And the bastard knows that he feels that way – smirk set obstinately amidst rising droplets of sweat, and his breath catches in his throat as he says, “What’s the matter, Shizu-chan? Too worried to leave me alone?”

“Shut up.”

“How cute,” Izaya adds – and then his head jerks to one side, cut-and-bleeding cheek hitting gravel again and stinging more with every additional speck of dust that works its way into the light wound. Shinra isn’t going easy – doesn’t take any notice of the informant’s discomfort, doesn’t slow and then doesn’t waste any time in rising to his feet with a tolerant sigh as he finally finishes his examination.

He and Shizuo aren’t exactly conversing face to face even then; the height difference is appreciable, to say the least. It’s enough, though, and Izaya isn’t the only one confused by the doctor’s decision to inform Shizuo – not Izaya, not the one who’s actually hurt – of the informant’s condition.

“He should be fine. One of his vertebrae is pretty badly fractured, but it only pinched a nerve. Given time, it’ll heal.”

Something about a brace, and Izaya scowls. Some stuff about bed rest and physical therapy, too – a very Shinra-typical stream of information. Shizuo shuffles his feet bewilderedly, stares down at them and nods. “Uh, right,” he mutters lamely, and in the next moment his gaze finds Izaya’s – again, that unwavering crimson, lined in dark lashes and no less fierce for being angled upward. It still feels like Shizuo’s being dared to do something, but he’s not even sure what that could be. What the fuck Izaya wants from him now. Why he’s even looking in this direction.

“Good for you,” he says as nonchalantly – as sarcastically – as he can, but his hands are in his pockets. He’s slouching forward ever so slightly, and his head is inclined in a classic show of discomfort. It doesn’t feel like he can just walk away after being told something like that.

Not that it’s serious, really, but because only family – friends, people who care – are supposed to be told that ‘it’ll heal.’ That the problem lies in some nerve or vertebra or whatever. That this and that should be done to promote faster healing. He should probably correct Shinra, but he kind of wonders. (Yeah, and if that isn’t the biggest fucking contradiction yet, he’s not sure what is.) He wonders if anyone else would be any more comfortable with being told all this. If anyone else would care. If even the informant’s own sisters would bother pretending.

“Shizu-chan, hey – are you even listening?”

“The fuck should I?” the blonde growls back. “It’s not my problem.”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” the informant purrs. He forces himself halfway vertical – hands and arms at his sides and angled slightly behind the rest of him, palms buried in dust and other bits of rubbish – and cocks his head to one side. “Shouldn’t you volunteer to look after me for the next few days?”

“Weeks,” Shinra corrects him blandly, and no one misses the slight widening of the informant’s eyes.

“Weeks, then,” he sighs after a moment – and, before Shizuo can properly rally his thoughts behind a protest, adds, “Or you could just pay for a hospital. Except that you probably don’t have the money for that, ne?” A smile, and Shizuo’s hand is at his throat and lifting him into the air in seconds flat.

No, no, no. That isn’t where his thoughts were going. No way in hell.

“If you didn’t want to get hurt,” Shizuo snarls, “maybe you should’ve stayed away from me – am I right, Izaya-kun?”

“Nn – Shizu – stop…”

“What? I can’t hear you, creep.”

Shinra steps in only then – with a short shake of his head, his hand light on Shizuo’s fingers as they tighten about the informant’s pale neck. “If you’re going to kill him, please consider doing it somewhere else – and preferably not in front of me.”

Shizuo’s eyes go instantly wide, and he drops Izaya as though the smaller man had physically burned him. He adds a weak shove to the motion for good measure, and Izaya lands a foot or two away – with a pained hiss and a string of gasping breaths as he again regains his horizontal position and struggles to find sufficient oxygen for his aching lungs. The blonde, meanwhile, takes a single, calming breath before apologizing – to Shinra, of course, for almost getting him involved in something troublesome again.

“Don’t worry about it,” his friend acknowledges, and his glasses flash intermittently as he turns back to Izaya. Kneels, helps him pull himself partially upright again, and smiles unsympathetically. “Looks like you pushed Shizuo-kun just a little too far today, huh, Izaya-kun? What was that saying, again?”

“‘You reap what you sow,’” Izaya responds coolly – in English, no less, and Shizuo narrows his eyes. He’s never been very good with foreign languages, anyway, and he hasn’t exactly been practicing in the ten years that have passed since he was supposed to have learned that in high school.

No one bothers to explain it to him, either. He can’t be blamed for being confused as hell when Shinra turns to him and –

“Right. And that applies to you, too, Shizuo-kun.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Like the doctor’s just revealed a fragment of some great secret, something dangerous and precious and true._

It’s not funny. It’s not even plausible. And it’s _definitely_ not fair – actually, Shizuo thinks, it couldn’t possibly be too extreme to dub this whole thing ‘cruel and unusual punishment.’ Not gonna happen.

“I’d kill him in an hour,” he argues.

“I doubt it,” Izaya responds, and he’s looking far too composed for someone in his position. Pisses Shizuo off, because just where does this flea get that confidence from? It’s like he’s already totally convinced that his sworn enemy is just gonna go right along with this ridiculous idea – this – this –

There just aren’t words for it.

“You gonna run away if I try?” Shizuo snaps. That shuts the informant up, but it doesn’t stop him from smirking and daring Shizuo with his eyes. Always daring him, always challenging him.

“Not for a while, anyway,” Shinra interrupts, and in the next moment his hands close on Izaya’s upper arms. He yanks the informant rather unceremoniously into a vertical position and struggles to hold him there; Izaya sags into the other’s grip, and his widened eyes say everything that his mouth refuses to voice. The doctor sighs and extends his arms and the rag-doll man toward Shizuo. His manner is more unconcerned than was Izaya’s only moments ago. (Now, Izaya looks torn between humiliation and irritation. Surprise.)

The blonde takes an uncertain step back. “I’m telling you, there’s no way – ”

“Notice, first, just how hard it is for me to hold him like this for even this long,” Shinra demands. He sets his mouth in a firm line that refutes any and all arguments, and then continues, “Celty and I are both busy. We can’t take care of him, and it wouldn’t be fair to send him off to some hospital after intentionally hurting him – ”

“I didn’t do it on purpose!”

“It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done, and I don’t imagine that you could afford to pay even a fraction of the costs that would come with a hospital stay as long as Izaya-kun would need…”

Shizuo bristles. That’s probably true, of course, but – “But it’s _Izaya._ ”

“I’m right here,” the informant growls. His scarlet gaze is fixed on Shizuo’s face. “You know, it’s really rude to talk about people right in front of their faces.” He sighs. “Mind letting me go, Shinra?”

The man in question raises an eyebrow and – the hint of a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of his lips – opens his hands wide so that there is no longer even the slightest hint of _anything_ there to keep Izaya from meeting the ground with another clatter of bruising limbs and gravel crunching. A light gasp rushes past the informant’s defenses, and then he’s suspended again – strong and un-gentle arms curling awkwardly about his torso, one hand accidently tangling in the soft strands of his hair – and Shizuo is staring down at him with eyes wide and cheeks flushed.

“What the hell, Shinra?!” he growls, and Izaya looks around at his friend and his enemy and his own body limp and useless and oh-so-very close to Shizuo’s. ‘What the hell’ is right.

“There you go,” Shinra says tolerantly, approvingly, and in the next instant he’s standing with his medical bag and several feet of distance between himself and the other two. “You can figure out together whose place you’d prefer to go to. Let me know, and I’ll come by with that brace and some other supplies later.”

“W-wait, Shinra, I don’t – ”

“Your words and your actions don’t match up, Shizu-chan.” Shizuo turns to face the informant, then, and his scowl deepens as he takes in the other man’s taunting smirk. “If you’re so certain that you’re going to kill me, why bother calling Shinra in the first place?”

“You asked me to,” Shizuo says lamely. “I didn’t have anything better to do.”

That’s a lie. They all know. Shizuo knows.

“Let me fall,” Izaya murmurs, and all it takes a moment of hesitation on Shizuo’s part; he laughs. “You can’t, can you?”

“Shut up. I’ll do worse than just dropping you if you don’t shut up _now_ ,” Shizuo threatens, but that doesn’t appear to bother Izaya in the slightest. Shinra doesn’t try to hide his smile, either, and Shizuo finds himself faced with two people laughing – sharing in some unvoiced joke, and he knows exactly what it is but he’s not ready to acknowledge it just yet.

“Come on, Shizu-chan,” Izaya purrs, and his hand on Shizuo’s cheek is soft and gentle and patronizing. “I won’t even press charges if you can manage to do just this much for me.”

“Why would you want me to – of you…? Doesn’t even make sense…!”

The informant’s grin widens. “Because _you_ don’t like it, of course.”

“He’s lying, you know,” Shinra sighs from behind Izaya. Shizuo glances over at him, narrows his eyes – “It’s true. Give it a few days, at least. You might see what I mean.”

Shizuo doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to give it a few days. He doesn’t want the entirely manageable weight of an incapacitated Izaya on his back. He doesn’t want the little bottle of painkillers or the long list of directions he’ll certainly forget anyway. He doesn’t want to notice the look Izaya gives Shinra – betrayed, scandalized even – like the doctor’s just revealed a fragment of some great secret, something dangerous and precious and true.

He keeps on not wanting it all until the moment his keys click in the lock of his apartment – Izaya breathing up his neck, pressing teasing kisses into the soft skin there and laughing at the outraged shivers that run up and down his benefactor’s spine.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He's not human enough for that._

Shizuo had been hoping for a bit of quiet – maybe some awkward silence, tension-fueled fidgeting and Izaya too tired to do or say anything more. He’d have been fine with that, honestly. It would have been so much better than the alternative.

Too bad he’s never – not ever, not when Izaya is involved – that lucky.

“Ne, Shizu-chan,” the informant whines. He won’t shut up, hasn’t for more than a blissful second or two in nearly half an hour. “Don’t you have more than one bed?”

Shizuo grinds his teeth together and glares venomously down at the informant – sitting almost normally on the couch, his legs stretched out limp and heavy before him, his arms supporting the rest of his weight as he leans forward to fix his carmine eyes on the blonde.

“No,” Shizuo hisses, “and if you keep complaining, I’ll – you’ll sleep on the floor.”

Izaya chuckles. “Shizu-chan’s not that cruel.”

“Think so?”

“I don’t think,” the informant sighs. He reaches up with one hand to drag slender fingers through his fine black hair, and his expression then is almost sentimental. “I _know._ ”

“The hell? You don’t know anything about me, flea.” He doesn’t know what Shizuo’s really like, that he’s honestly human – inside and out – and all the deep regret and insecurity that comes with that. Even if he did know, he wouldn’t care – and if he cared, it’d only be because he found it amusing. Another brilliant opportunity to tease and taunt his rival, to drag more of that damned fury and violence from him.

Shizuo thinks along those lines and practically spits the final word – _flea_ – at Izaya, practically throws it at him so that the informant blinks and looks just a little taken aback.

His favorite smirk returns quickly, though, and he tilts his head to one side as he wonders, “Were you planning on teaching me during our time together, _Shizu-chan?”_ He puts almost as much emphasis into the nickname as Shizuo did into his, and the two finish the exchange with mutual glares and a not-daring-to-be-amused silence.

Shizuo is, surprisingly, the first to break that silence and the stillness that accompanies it. He scoffs, turns so that his back is facing Izaya, and leaves for the kitchen just as quickly as that. He doesn’t bother explaining his intentions and hopes against hope that Izaya won’t comment on the second glass of water that he carries back with him.

Shizuo finds Izaya's eyes closed at that point, and he hesitates only briefly as he approaches the injured man. The informant’s tracing lazy circles on his thigh, his other arm almost buckling under the weight of his entire upper body.

“Can you even feel that?” Shizuo wonders disinterestedly as he shoves the drink unceremoniously at Izaya – as if it were the last thing on Earth he’d ever think to offer the informant, and it is.

Izaya cracks one eye open and smiles lazily at the blonde. “And why would Shizu-chan want to know a thing like that?”

Shizuo scowls and brings the water closer to Izaya’s face. “Just take it.”

“I can’t.”

“Dammit, flea – ”

“Shizu-chan,” Izaya interrupts patiently. “It’s a bit tiring, you know.”

Confused, Shizuo narrows his eyes and retrieves his hand with the smooth glass still cloaked in condensation and ice-cold to the touch. He doesn’t have to ask again – wouldn’t have, anyway, because hell if he really cares – for Izaya grins and adds, “Since you already went to the trouble, why not at least help me sit up?”

Shizuo has to work hard at resisting the urge to crush the delicate glass in his hand like so many eggshells.

“Hell, no.”

“Ah,” Izaya whines, “but it’s not my fault that I’ve had to use both my arms to hold myself upright for so long!”

Shizuo bites back another complaint. The flea doesn’t need his help for anything as simple as sitting up to drink a glass of water. He’s already supporting himself with one hand, talking more than anyone else in his position probably would and apparently enjoying every minute of what he claims is exhausting. He’s fine, and Orihara Izaya doesn’t show weakness where weakness actually exists.

He’s not human enough for that.

“Do you want anything to drink or not?”

Izaya eyes the blonde for another moment or two before sighing and reaching up to grab it. His fingers just miss their intended target, and Shizuo grudgingly has to bring it closer.

“Much obliged,” Izaya murmurs condescendingly as he sips at the smooth liquid.

And then that liquid is soaking his lap and the front of his shirt and his eyes are wide and surprised as he fails to get a grip on that glass before it hits the floor beside the couch. “Ah – ”

Shizuo stops in the middle of retreating back to some other corner of his apartment. It’s obvious to him – because he’s well-accustomed to reading between Izaya’s many lines – that the informant isn’t kidding or lying or messing around. He looks startled, frustrated. Like he knows now that he’ll need help with maybe getting a spare change of clothes, maybe getting more water or a towel or anything, really, but he won’t ask because that would likely be a violation of some ironclad, unspoken rule.

Shizuo doesn’t care. He scoops Izaya up in his arms and lets his hands tighten about the smaller man’s upper arm to serve as a sort of warning.

 _Don’t say anything, don’t move or laugh and_ definitely _don’t pretend that you know what you’re doing any more than I do._

He’s careful not to meet Izaya’s gaze as he carries him into his bedroom, lets him down easily on the bed and finds the smallest pair of sweats he has to offer. They’ll still be too big for Izaya, of course, but it shouldn’t matter much as long as the guy won’t be standing up anyway.

Shizuo manages to absorb himself so totally in going through the motions that he just misses the tiny, grateful smile that graces the informant’s lips before the blonde turns back around.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _How many years has it been?_

“Like I said,” Izaya repeats. “I was just tired.”

“Or,” Shinra reminds him in a manner that is altogether too cheerful for this situation, “your coordination might have been affected by that injury. Don’t try to tell me you wouldn’t at least like to have it looked at.”

The doctor’s been badgering Izaya for several minutes now – a pointless back-and-forth of _I’m really fine, can we just get this brace thing over and done with_ and _no, I’m really concerned about the state of your muscles._

Izaya doesn’t know, really. Part of him had wanted to let that glass fall so that Shizuo would have to – hopefully, and the sting of embarrassment had almost been worth it – help him, the physical proximity and maybe he’d even start admitting to himself that there’s something more to the two of them than unjustified and pervasive hatred.

Another part of him was and is, of course, suffering from a pain-in-the-ass spinal cord injury.

“Shinra,” Shizuo sighs. “Leave him the fuck alone, if he doesn’t care.”

Izaya indicates Shizuo with a brisk wave of his arm. “See? Even Shizu-chan agrees with me.”

The blonde turns away from the other two. “Idiot,” he snarls, but doesn’t bother to elaborate on just which part of Izaya’s statement is supposed to have been incorrect.

Probably the agreeing part, if Izaya had to guess.

“Right,” Shinra states, sounding unconvinced at best. “Well, I imagine that’s probably because Shizuo-kun doesn’t much care about your continued ability to dodge his vending machines.”

Hearing that, Shizuo twitches irritably but doesn’t turn around. Izaya notices, of course, and that – combined with his friend’s words, the cutting sarcasm of the doctor’s intent – amuses him enough to elicit a brief smile. “That, too,” he murmurs abstractedly.

Shinra’s expression sobers quickly. “That aside,” he says, voice quieting, “are you sure about this?”

Izaya’s gaze flits back up to rest on Shizuo – back turned, still, but his head is tilted slightly as if he means to listen in on the conversation. “Yeah,” he mutters.

“You don’t stand a chance, you know.”

Izaya scowls at his friend. “Yeah,” he repeats blandly.

It’s not as if Shinra has any right to talk, besides, and Izaya has yet to fully forgive him for his earlier comment. Shizu-chan and the informant’s oh-so-human infatuation with him stopped being Shinra’s business ages ago, after all – back when a dazed Izaya had stumbled, drunk and confused, into the doctor’s spacious apartment. That useless, demeaning, hellish several hours of a night.

 _Make it go away_ , he’d begged, and Shinra had remained bemusedly quiet for a long time after that.

And then he’d laughed and patted Izaya on the back – as if Izaya were just some naïve kid, the pretentious jerk – and replied that this was all completely beyond science and _I’m sorry, you’ll just have to deal with this one on your own._

How many years has it been?

“Oi.”

Izaya feels his eyes go wide before he can do a single thing to stop the reflex – breathless like he’s falling all over again, and of _course_ that’s because he’s been accustomed for so long to half-pretending that his interest in Shizuo doesn’t go beyond that of any decent rival’s. He’s used to looking at Shizuo and lying quietly to himself - never daring to think, not in Shizuo’s very real presence, that he’s actually incredibly good looking underneath all that unkempt violence and hatred and crazy lack of self-respect.

(Because that’s how acting works, he pretends that there’s nothing _that_ deeply human in the blonde. Nothing that can’t be chalked up to the monster Izaya likes to claim he is, anyway.)

So when he glances back up at Shizuo and finds the brown of the blonde’s eyes trained directly on him, he can’t help believing for one terrible second that the brute’s somehow managed to read his innermost thoughts.

“…Shizu-chan?”

Shizuo blinks warily down at Izaya. “Wasn’t talkin’ to you,” he mutters, and turns to Shinra.

And that's it. The monster's not usually so anticlimactic.

“Can we get on with this already?” Shizuo wonders pointedly. “I’ve got work tomorrow.”

Shinra gives the blonde a blank stare. “You can’t go.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because,” Shinra says patiently, turning away at last to sift through his seemingly-bottomless bag of medical paraphernalia. “You have to take care of this idiot.”

Izaya grins at his cue. “Right, Shizu-chan. Don’t forget little old me!”

“Fuck,” Shizuo snarls. “He can take care of himself.”

“No, he can’t.”

“Why – ”

“Shizuo-kun,” Shinra interrupts. “He has to eat. He has to take showers, change his clothes. And” – Izaya cringes – “he can’t exactly walk to the bathroom on his own, can he?”

“I – I don’t think I can do…”

“Too late,” Shinra says shortly. End of discussion. Should have said something, and – oh, you did? Should have thrown something. Too bad that’s how this whole ordeal got started in the first place.

Izaya almost feels sorry for the guy.

 _Almost_ – and then not at all, as Shinra sighs and indicates with a quick inclination of his head that Shizuo should join them by the couch. He’s holding something – black, vaguely torso shaped with what look like Velcro straps and – “Shinra,” Izaya murmurs, sounding vaguely alarmed even to himself.

“Not you, too,” Shinra sighs. “Look, if you want this to go over smoothly you’re going to have to put up with some things you don’t like – both of you,” he adds with another pointed glance at Shizuo.

“Got it,” the blonde agrees, and he sounds considerably more cheerful now than he had just moments ago. “Look, Izaya. It’s not that bad.” He brandishes the brace with a triumphant air about him as a stupid grin spills across his face. “Think it’ll look good on you.”

Izaya glares at Shizuo. “You’re such a kid, Shizu-chan.”

“No, really,” he laughs.

And, well, _fuck_ \- that look on Shizu-chan is just downright unfair. He really shouldn’t be allowed to smile like that, teeth showing just below his lips stretched wide and something about it so much more reserved than any of his infuriated grins, the looks that promise death and free flights to Hokkaido.

 _This_ is almost shy.

Izaya stares down at his hands cupped in his lap and is painfully aware now of the fact that he’s blushing. “…Okay,” he says after a long pause.

“Okay?” Shizuo repeats half-incredulously.

“Aw, did I just spoil your fun? So sorry...”

Shizuo doesn’t answer, but Shinra does – “thoracolumbar-sacral orthosis, the best way to treat this sort of injury... anywhere from eight to ten weeks... some rehabilitation...”

Eight to… oh, dear.

Ignoring Izaya’s obvious – _he_ thinks – bewilderment, Shinra and an increasingly perplexed Shizuo pull Izaya forward, away from the couch, and the informant winces at the sudden movement. (It manages, every now and then, to hurt – just that one spot, the ‘pinched nerve’ or whatever it is, but the pain has a way of radiating up and down the rest of him like the warmth of a space heater. A dull ache, sometimes sharp.) The doctor recites instructions to Shizuo with a practiced speed and level tone – so methodical, actually, that Izaya has to wonder if this isn’t the first time he’s dealt with this kind of injury.

“Good. Now, Izaya-kun, raise your arms – yep, just like that – and – right, Shizuo-kun, grab the Velcro on that side – tighter – how does that feel?”

“Weird,” Izaya admits. It’s too close, too restrictive. He can’t breathe right.

“Glad to hear it,” Shinra says as he straightens up and shrugs tiredly. “You can take it off when you bathe, of course, but wear it just like that the rest of the time.” He holds his hands up and lowers his fingers one by one with every additional bit of advice he has to offer. “Go easy on the pain meds, too, alright? They should last until the end of this week, if not longer. The wheelchair’s by the door, but you should probably give it a day or two at the very least before you worry about…”

Izaya stops listening. He’s pretty sure that Shizuo does, too, because the blonde’s eyes are trained on a spot just barely to the left of the doctor’s head. They’re unfocused, and they stay that way, Izaya thinks, until the moment the doctor steps past the open door and it swings shut behind him.

“…It’s really not that bad,” Shizuo offers in the vacuumous silence, then, and his eyes still seem fixed on something far away.

“Then why don’t _you_ try wearing it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found Shinra's tidbits of information regarding Izaya's brace [ here](http://www.mayfieldclinic.com/PE-SpineFract.HTM). (The name, the recovery time, and honestly that's about as much as I read of that whole page.)
> 
> There's also a picture [ here](http://www.delatorreop.com/images/devices/223x223/154.jpg), but you can google image search the brace's name for a better idea of what it might look like.
> 
> :D


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Izaya doesn’t say a word, but he means it when he smiles._

“And? What do you want?”

“Whatever do you mean, Shizu-chan?”

Shizuo frowns. He’s standing with his keys already in his hand, his back pressed impatiently to the wall behind him. “For dinner,” he clarifies.

Izaya smiles not at all venomously and indicates the wheelchair – _his_ wheelchair, if only for a while – with one slender finger. “Sushi. We can even go together, ne?” He’s intentionally childish about it because he knows that his request will be denied either way – at least at first, but he may as well work on manipulating Shizuo a little while he’s at it.

“Like hell,” the blonde hisses. “You heard Shinra.”

Izaya purses his lips in something of a pout. “Who cares what Shinra said? _You_ probably don’t.”

“…I don’t wanna be seen with you.”

“Ouch. Try saying one nice thing to me today, Shizu-chan,” Izaya responds with an expression of mock hurt on his face. The feeling’s more than a little real, of course, but there’s a special trick to making it appear contrived.

“I did,” Shizuo mutters. “That… thing.”

What, the brace? Izaya laughs. “True,” he admits. “Even if you _were_ just teasing me.”

Shizuo grins a little in spite of himself. “You look ridiculous.”

“Does that mean you take it back?” Izaya wonders with a little smirk.

Shizuo doesn’t respond – he’s good at that, always has been – at least not right away. He takes a half-step forward and stares hard at the glinting metal, smooth plastic and leather that is the wheelchair. His grip on the keys tightens so that Izaya wonders whether they might actually be crushed in his fist.

And then he lets his held breath go with a soft sigh, stuffs the keys into his pocket and clumsily unfolds the chair.

“Fine,” he allows. “Just stay quiet.”

It’s been all of a few hours, Izaya thinks. They have _weeks_ ahead of them, long days of fighting and awkward exchanges and blame, but here’s Shizu-chan being as generous as if he’s never truly hated the man in front of him.

Izaya doesn’t say a word, but he means it when he smiles.

**~**

Of course, Shizuo just _has_ to spite the informant. He’s kind enough to help him into his fur-lined coat, to adjust it so that it almost hides the shapeless plastic of his brace, but he’s not quite kind enough to take Izaya where he’s expressed a desire to go.

Not that Izaya minds all that much, of course.

“Shoyu ramen,” the blonde mutters to the man behind the counter of the first stand he and Izaya happen across. Izaya blinks up at him but doesn’t bother asking why they’re not going all the way to Russia Sushi.

“Miso’s fine,” he decides. “With some gyoza, too.”

Shizuo turns to glare at him. “Gyoza?”

“I’ll pay, I’ll pay,” Izaya says dismissively. “I know how much trouble Shizu-chan has with his finances, after all.”

“Bastard…!” The blonde raises a fist as if he means to deal Izaya another few blows, but he catches himself before he can so much as move it closer to the other man. “…You said you’d stay quiet, so shut the hell up.”

“Don’t be so unsociable, Shizu-chan,” Izaya chides with a cheerful grin. “And shouldn’t you be helping me onto a stool? I’d rather not stay all the way down here, you know~!”

Shizuo grits his teeth, stares at the ground and ignores the stand owner’s small talk. “Will you even be able to hold yourself upright?” he wonders at length.

“Sure. I’m not as pathetic as you’d probably like to think.”

“The hell you’re not,” Shizuo growls. “Eat on the ground, for all I care.” He turns away, takes a seat at the counter and does his apparent best to pretend that Izaya doesn’t exist.

The informant stares up at Shizuo for a long moment. Wide eyes, wide eyes… “But, Shizu-chan…”

“Tch.”

He glances over his shoulder, sees Izaya looking ever so wistfully _adorable,_ and sighs as he slips back to rest one hand on the counter, the other on his sheathed-in-black knee. He studies Izaya for a long moment – brow furrowed, mouth set in a stubborn line even as Izaya grins back up at him – and then he steps forward to slip both of his hands under the informant’s arms.

“W-wait, Shizu-chan – ”

“Shut up,” Shizuo mutters. “You shouldn’t have any problems as long as I’m helping, right?”

Izaya can’t respond fast enough, and the brute lifts him like a cat, rag-doll limp and blushing furiously, only to drop him rather unceremoniously onto a bar stool. Izaya nearly falls right off, and a scared gasp catches in his throat until Shizuo reaches out to catch him again.

“See?” he says pointedly as he adjusts Izaya’s legs beneath him. “Idiot.”

“You’re the idiot, Shizu-chan. Be a little gentler!”

“With you?” Shizuo wonders, and he chuckles as he turns to accept his bowlful of ramen. “That’s not how it works, flea.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _If_ that’s _it, after, all then he owes Shizuo plenty more than just a simple apology._

The next morning is hell – or maybe the storm after the calm, Izaya thinks wryly as he pulls his arms around himself and twists his head so that he’s facing the back of Shizuo’s couch. He can smell the faint aroma of cigarette smoke wafting up from the cushions, but then there’s also the sting of sweat and – and he’d rather not think about it, the different and easily recognizable stench of urine.

It hurts – everything, especially his back and his legs and he can’t even _move_ them – and the pain meds he’s supposed to be able to take at times like this are sitting on the kitchen counter. Izaya can’t get them himself, but if and when Shizuo comes out of his bedroom he’s going to see Izaya – because he couldn’t stand up, and the damned brute didn’t hear him shouting hours ago – and it’ll be humiliating and Shizuo’ll definitely be mad despite the fact that it’s _his fault, his_ –

Izaya’s not sure he wants Shizuo to find him at all.

The muted click of a doorknob turning sends painful twisting sensations coursing through his stomach. He’s scared, dammit, and that’s just one more thing he doesn’t want Shizuo seeing.

The door swings open far behind the couch, and Izaya finds himself holding his breath as heavy footsteps wind their way past him and into the kitchen where he can just catch a glimpse of the blonde.

His hair is messy, his muscles standing out at the edges of his short sleeves. Izaya realizes then that this is his first time in a long time seeing Shizuo wearing anything other than his bartender getup – definitely his first time ever seeing him in a rumpled set of pajamas – and the blonde looks good. His eyes are still half-mast, his jaw slack as he reaches dazedly for a glass of water.

Something in Izaya’s chest hurts, looking at that. He should say something now to dispel the feeling and the awkward embarrassment he knows is coming, but Shizuo right now is the furthest thing from furious.

Izaya wants to see him like that more - just a little more.

But, of course, he’s Orihara Izaya, he’s sprawled out on Shizuo’s couch, and he can’t hold his breath forever. When the blonde turns halfway around – so close, just about close enough now to notice his guest – Izaya feels a sudden twinge of fear and forces himself to speak.

“Sh-Shizu-chan,” he mumbles at the same time as he pushes himself partly upright to call more attention – _don’t look, don’t look, don’t look_ – to himself.

“Flea?” Shizuo turns, then, and barely seems to register Izaya’s face before he frowns and heaves a sigh. “Dammit. Forgot you were here…”

Izaya feels his face heating up. “H-how rude,” he breathes. “And after all the good times we’ve already had together, too.”

“Good times, my – hey,” and Shizuo rounds the counter to get a better look at Izaya. “You okay?”

There are tears in Izaya’s eyes before he can so much as pretend not to mind the blonde’s eyes on him. “N-not really,” he groans. “Some pills would be nice – fast,” he adds, because if Shizuo turns around now he might not notice the smell, the wetness soaking up through Izaya’s pants and the single blanket he’s been sleeping under.

Shizuo doesn’t move. His gaze seems to be fixed squarely on Izaya’s blushing face, though, so the informant feels some kind of relieved and meets the stare with one of his own.

“Please,” he hisses after a long moment. He even lets a shudder run through him, head to toe and obviously born of the pain he’s feeling. “Come on, don’t be stingy…”

Shizuo narrows his eyes at the informant. “Please?” he repeats dubiously – of course, because that word and Shizuo probably don’t go together in the version of Izaya’s mind that this monster has somehow constructed over years of fighting and arguing. “Fuck, Izaya,” he groans, “it’s so early…”

Izaya glances up at the clock on the wall. “It’s almost noon, Shizu-chan.”

Shizuo freezes, all raised eyebrows and wide eyes. “R-really?”

“Do you always sleep so late?”

And what is Izaya doing, talking to Shizuo like this now when at any moment the brute could look down and see and laugh or yell or _something_ – making himself, as always, the center of the blonde’s attention, but for now that’s only going to hurt him.

Force of habit, maybe.

“You always were a slob,” he adds. “Remember? Sometimes, you were so late to school that we all wondered if you’d even show up~!”

Shizuo glares, turns away and snatches the bottle of pills up from its spot on the counter. “That was a long time ago,” he growls, and Izaya just manages to swallow another smart comment as his rival fills up a second glass of water –

– and then pauses to grip the edges of the sink – both hands on either side, muscles straining and plainly intimidating.

Neither moves for a long moment. Shizuo’s shaking; Izaya can see it even from his spot on the couch, and as he watches he notices several long cracks materialize in the bleached porcelain.

He’s mad, furious. That’s so like Shizu-chan, but what’s not like him is this concerted effort not to act on it. Because acting on it – throwing something, breaking walls and windows and the furniture his brother probably bought for him – would mean wrecking his own place – right? Because Shinra would know, because it’s early and Shizuo’s still half-asleep and Izaya’s not worth the effort.

That’s it, isn’t it?

Or… is it because of the condition Izaya’s in? Because he can’t fight back or run or do anything at all against someone whose strength is easily five, ten times his own?

“Sorry,” he hears himself murmur. “Sorry, Shizu-chan.”

If _that’s_ it, after, all then he owes Shizuo plenty more than just a simple apology.

“Enough with that damn nickname,” the blonde mutters. He turns, then, too, and his mouth is set in a determined line as he retrieves the medicine and water and approaches Izaya at a quick walk.

Izaya closes his eyes, lets himself fall back onto the cushions and bites his lower lip, but the tears still manage to stand out at the corners. He can feel them, huge and cold and wet. “Sorry,” he repeats. “S-sorry about this.”

It’s his way of asking Shizuo not to make too huge a deal of it. _Please overlook this, please pretend that you haven’t noticed or – or_ something, _Shizu-chan…_

“Izaya, you’re…”

Izaya presses his open palms to his eyes and shakes with – with a little sob, quiet but entirely too audible and close to Shizuo and it shakes him lightly. A tight pain in his chest.

“S-sorry,” he groans. “I – I tried – ”

“Tried what?”

Izaya takes a deep breath. “To – to call you. G-guess I’m just not loud enough, ne?”

Shizuo goes quiet for a moment. Then – “Yeah, sorry… I’m sorta hard to wake up…”

Izaya feels a little like laughing at that. He knows. He still remembers the lazy afternoon back in high school, playing with Shizuo’s hair and his face and Shizuo not stirring until long after Izaya’d disappeared from the roof where the blonde always liked to nap between classes.

Back then, he’d still been convinced that he hated his newfound rival.

Shizuo exhales slowly and then pulls Izaya’s hands away from his eyes – gently, as if exerting any more force than is strictly necessary might somehow damage the informant all over again. “Come on,” he says, “you’re acting like a kid.”

Izaya screws his eyes shut tighter and turns his head sharply away from the blonde. He thinks about apologizing again, but decides against that. Opts for silence, after all.

“Izaya,” Shizuo growls. “Look – I’m sorry, okay?”

“You?” Izaya whispers hoarsely. He keeps his eyes shut, buries his face in the cigarette-scented cushion and keeps shaking with muted sobs. “N-never thought I’d hear Shizu-chan say that.”

“I said to quit – oh, fuck, never mind,” Shizuo mutters. “I just – I mean it, okay? You shouldn’t… apologize or anything…”

“I know,” Izaya mumbles. “I just – I don’t know why, but – I suppose I thought a monster like you would deal with this a little differently.” He’s calmer already, and maybe that’s because he can feel Shizuo’s warmth so incredibly close to him, gentle and awkwardly comforting. He can hear him breathing, little sighs and rustling clothes every time the blonde moves around.

“Like what?” Shizuo wonders. He still hasn’t let go of Izaya’s wrists.

“Laughing,” Izaya decides. “Or getting mad. You’re good at that, after all.”

Shizuo chuckles. It’s not entirely humorless, although he’s certainly at least a little annoyed. “I can’t get mad or make fun of you for something that’s mostly my fault.”

Izaya feels his blush darkening. “This sucks,” he complains.

“Yeah,” Shizuo readily agrees, and he lets go of Izaya to reach up and – there’s the sound of his hand in his hair, shy and awkward and everything Shizuo’s never been around Izaya. “Ah, so… you’re not mad, then?”

Izaya opens his eyes, finally, and turns back to Shizuo. “Would that bother you, Shizu-chan?”

Shizuo stills, brown eyes wide and vaguely alarmed. “N-no,” he stammers. “I just – even I’d apologize for something like this – a-anyway, we should get you cleaned up…”

Izaya blinks up at Shizuo. Smiles slowly.

“Thanks as always, Shizu-chan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was exploring the wonderful world of tumblr and all of its beautiful fanart, and - and. I had a lot of feels while writing this dialogue.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Izaya’s beginning to think that he might have more of a chance than Shinra’s been giving him credit for._

Shizuo is oddly finicky about certain things. Izaya would bet good money – of course, he has plenty of it – that the brute doesn’t even use his kitchen most of the time, anyway, but he’s nevertheless very dead-set on keeping Izaya and his wheelchair out of it.

“Don’t fucking complain about your injury if you’re just gonna turn around and ask me something like that,” Shizuo snarls adamantly.

Really, he’s too much, although Izaya could perhaps give him a little leeway there – he’s complained plenty, but most of that’s only because being scrubbed down by Shizuo is probably the most humiliating thing he’s ever had to deal with. Next to being found like that this morning, anyway.

“I thought I owed you one, Shizu-chan?”

“You’d owe me another ten if I let you use my kitchen for whatever weird-ass experiment you’re planning, flea.”

Yeah, his mood certainly has worsened over the course of a long and boring day indoors. Izaya’s feeling pretty worn out, himself, but for him one of the best remedies would probably involve seeing Shizuo enjoy a meal made by his own worst enemy.

“Dinner’s not a science experiment, Shizu-chan,” Izaya sighs. “Not if you do it right.”

“Like you could,” Shizuo grumbles.

“I can,” Izaya replies confidently. His skills are pretty limited, too, of course, but he considers himself to be pretty good at the few dishes he’s capable of putting together. Shizuo may be picky, but his taste buds, at least, are probably still human.

“You’ll hurt yourself, idiot. You probably couldn’t reach the counters, anyway.”

Ah – true…

There’s really no response suitable for combatting that, so Izaya assumes the very same position Shizuo has – stubborn resistance.

(Shizuo’s not one for listening to logic, anyway.)

“It’ll be fine. Just this once, ne? I’m sure Shizu-chan won’t be disappointed~!”

Shizuo crosses his arms on his chest to glare down at Izaya. The informant’s already getting used to craning his neck, to being physically looked down on; he’s spent most of his day in the wheelchair, after all. That’s partly because it’s simply more convenient, anyway, and partly because he doesn’t want to ask much more of Shizuo than he already has to. Having the brute move him around more than is strictly necessary isn’t likely to do either of them any good, and Izaya’s not in a position to make Shizuo too mad.

Izaya pouts – fully understanding, of course, that Shizuo hates it but caring too little for all that he so wants this – and stares right back at his adversary. They’re both quiet for a moment before Shizuo decides to speak up again.

“Hey, flea,” he mutters pointedly, and it’s obvious that he’s just thought to consider this point. “Why d‘you want to do something like that, anyway? Sure ramen’s not fine?”

“You can’t live on ramen every single day,” Izaya says with a little smile. “Besides, cooking can be fun” – a lie, of course, but in this situation alone it seems okay – “and I just want to – is that a problem?”

“Yes,” Shizuo snaps, but there’s considerably less force behind it now.

Izaya sinks back into his chair, brings one hand up to play with a stray bit of black that’s fallen over his forehead. “Then why not go out for dinner again? We can stop for ingredients on the way back and do it tomorrow night. Okay?”

See? Even Izaya can forge a compromise here and there when he deems it necessary.

Shizuo hesitates, then frowns and heaves a long sigh. “Whatever,” he allows, “but I’m helping tomorrow.”

Izaya grins.

Shizuo notices, of course, and his dark blush is beyond adorable as he stammers out an explanation – just ‘cause you’ll make a mess, flea, and it’s my kitchen anyway and I can’t let you out of my sight for a second –

– really, though, Izaya’s beginning to think that he might have more of a chance than Shinra’s been giving him credit for.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Invisibility, huh..._

Izaya’s pretty good at invisibility. He has to be, and he certainly doesn’t dislike it – invisibility is the only way to perform naturalistic observation, after all – but he also enjoys attention when he can get it. That’s why he likes to talk lots whenever there’s someone there to listen – the headless rider, Namie-san or Shiki-san or anyone, really – and adding a bit of dramatic flair to his activities is never a bad idea.

Shizuo rolls his eyes for what seems to be the hundredth time today.

Because that’s only some of the nonsense Izaya drones on about as he and Shizuo head out to Russia Sushi – “Come on, Shizu-chan, we didn’t have it last time!” – and the subject somehow manages to change often over the course of a long and totally one-sided conversation. Shizuo would force Izaya to shut up if he thought he could open his mouth without flying into a perfect rage.

Thing is, that bit about invisibility somehow sticks in Shizuo’s mind. He’s never thought of Izaya as invisible because he’s always sort of stood out to the blonde, but – yeah, to do his job it makes sense.

It just doesn’t fit his personality.

He doesn’t _think_ so, anyway, until they make it into the heart of the city and the crowds and noise. Shizuo’s feeling pretty damn self-conscious himself, pushing Izaya along in his stupid chair – he could swear that ever passerby knows that the injury’s his fault and stares to show it – but Izaya gradually stops talking the further they go.

Shizuo’s not about to comment on that – not unless he seriously wants to prompt the flea to start again – but it’s really pretty strange. He might be tired, he guesses, but Shizuo’s already beginning to understand that Izaya can and will talk straight through pain and exhaustion as long as his audience is effectively a captive one.

Invisibility, huh…

He gets the feeling that they’re both glad when Russia Sushi finally rolls into sight ahead of them. Simon greets them like Simon; he doesn’t seem even remotely surprised by the situation, but he’s just as friendly as ever and noticeably more cheerful.

“Good seeing you two be friends!” he says appreciatively as he ushers Shizuo – Izaya’s wheelchair in tow, bouncing inadvertently on gaps in the pavement – into the restaurant. “Eat sushi and get along – on the house, yes?”

Shizuo laughs in spite of himself. “Fine…”

Because he honestly can’t argue with free sushi, founded on some stupid falsehood though it may be.

There’s a forced smile in Izaya’s voice as he thanks Simon. “You know, I’ve always been under the impression that you didn’t much like me…”

Simon shakes his head as he indicates an open spot at the bar. Shizuo moves one of the wooden chairs away to make room for Izaya’s wheelchair while the huge man grins and says something about special occasions and new leaves.

They order, then – or, to be completely accurate, Shizuo orders and Izaya turns red and stares down at his hands until Simon just sighs and assumes that the informant wants “same thing as other times, then.”

Shizuo relaxes more the moment they’re left relatively alone. He leans way back in his wooden chair, notices briefly that he and Izaya are just about at eye level for the first time in a while…

“What was that all about?”

Izaya jumps a little and glances warily up at the blonde. He’s still a little pink – sick, maybe?

“…I said that I liked attention, didn’t I?”

Shizuo rolls his eyes – determined, just a little, not to let on that he’s been sort of wondering about that already. “Yeah, you might’ve. So?”

“Well,” Izaya begins with a little there-and-gone smile, “I do, but does anyone really like being stared at like a bug under a microscope? Really, it’s just stressful” – he hesitates, and his gaze shifts slightly to the side so that he’s no longer looking directly at Shizuo – “being seen with you…”

“Me? What…?”

Izaya’s flush returns full force. “Never mind, Shizu-chan.”

Shizuo stares at Izaya long after the informant’s returned to focusing on his hands in his lap. The flea’s freaking _weird_ all of a sudden – or not, considering his insane desire to stay with Shizuo to begin with – but it’s getting worse, really, what with the cooking and the weird silence and the making less sense than he usually does –

– and that damned red tint to his cheeks, what the hell’s wrong with him – looking just like some embarrassed schoolgirl…

“Wait,” Shizuo realizes. “Isn’t it kinda hypocritical of someone like you to worry about being _watched by other people…?”_

Izaya chuckles. “Yeah, maybe…”

Another long silence, smooth rhythm of a knife tapping a cutting board and plates jostling in the kitchen.

“You sick or something?” Shizuo wonders.

Izaya blinks at the counter, talks to it rather than to the man sitting right beside him.

“No. I’m a little tired, thanks so much for worrying – how sweet of you…”

Shizuo frowns but somehow manages to hold back the rage that threatens to overflow into his muscles and the stream of his hot blood. Izaya’s rambling like an idiot – funny, sort of, but annoying at the same time and if he’s gonna act weird the least he can do is explain why.

“So you don’t like attracting attention – and you don’t like me,” Shizuo sighs. “Fair enough. Is that really all?”

Izaya shakes his head. “Has anyone ever told you that you pry too much? Or are you just this bad at having real conversations?”

“Fine,” Shizuo grunts, annoyed. “What, then?”

“Hm?”

“What do you want to talk about,” Shizuo snaps, no longer bothering to make it sound like a question.

“Oh,” Izaya realizes, pinking again and he starts to…

…fidget…

“I – I don’t know, I guess,” he laughs nervously. Glances up at Shizuo, flushes further and has to look away again.

The silence stretches on and on and Shizuo’s pretty sure at this point that what either of them has to say won’t matter, anyway, because their food must be coming soon – but Izaya doesn’t calm down, either, just locks his fingers together and bends them back and forth and – and really anything to keep him looking down, seems like.

“The hell,” Shizuo sighs. “You _must_ be getting a fever or something.”

“I said – I’m not. I’m fine.”

Shizuo chuckles softly – almost under his breath, soft and confused. “So, when it comes to conversations” – he hesitates, not sure how it’s gonna sound out in the open – “d-do you always act like such a girl? Like you’re in love or something.” He laughs just a little louder, then, because dammit – he’d thought it’d sound more natural than that…

Izaya doesn’t say anything.

And doesn’t say anything.

And when Shizuo finally can’t take the awkward quiet anymore he turns to stare at the informant, sees him wide-eyed with – are those tears?

“I – Izaya, what…?”

The informant doesn’t move, just blushes and finally starts to breathe again – fast.

_He’s lying, you know._

“It was a joke,” Shizuo tries. “Jeez, if you take everything this seriously…”

Izaya shakes his head, presses the edge of his finger to his lips and closes his eyes.

_It’s true._

He’s shaking. He looks – like he’s about to cry, or more like he’s already crying but he’s trying to stem the flow before it gets to be too much…

_Give it a few days, at least._

“Don’t say that,” he hisses. “Don’t… you shouldn’t joke about things like that, Shizu-chan.”

_You might see what I mean._

No – no way.

_No way…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Important:**
> 
> Because I will not have any Internet access from today, June 22nd, until July 13th, this story as well as my other ongoing fics are all on temporary hiatus.
> 
> The fic is _not_ being discontinued, but real life obligations will make it impossible for me to work more on it for about three weeks. I'm really sorry about that, and thanks so much for reading until now! I hope you'll look forward to the new chapters I'll be posting in the not-so-near (but still near enough, right?) future!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He'd be fucking ecstatic if the whole thing'd just go away._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! :D
> 
> I haven't spoken or written a word of English in three weeks, so to be honest I'm a little unsure about posting a new chapter this soon, but hey - I really missed the chance to read and write fic, so here we go.

So what do you do, thinking – no, _believing,_ already – something completely and entirely impossible, something like love or tears shed on your behalf when years upon years of experience have already proven that things like that _just don’t happen_ to you?

It doesn’t make _sense._

And Izaya never has, Shizuo reminds himself, but the person he’s with right now might as well not even _be_ Izaya. He has the same mannerisms (although, come to think of it, there’s definitely something surreal in seeing Izaya as still as he has to be in that chair of his), and most of the time his awful fucking personality is just as fucking awful and jauntily insincere as ever.

His face, his voice, that literal and figurative stench of flea – it’s all the same and not the same but the closeness isn’t what has him thinking, no – it’s that hour or so spent with the flea, eating and walking and talking like friends. The embarrassed pink and the stuttering and fidgeting. That’s not Izaya, but taken in tandem with Shinra’s days-ago words _– a few days really he’s lying he’s really –_

– there’s a kinda obvious conclusion there, but the conflict lies in what to do, what to say…

“Go to fucking bed,” he growls, and then of course he almost wants to take it back because it sounds so much harsher than he’d intended it to.

(And Izaya’s not supposed to be that delicate, Shizuo’s not supposed to care how he feels, they’re supposed to hate each other and hurt each other and the punishment of living together goes on and on…)

Izaya doesn’t stop staring at his hands in his lap. Shizuo could swear he hears the flea sigh as the front door of the apartment clicks shut, but aside from that there’s no evidence that Izaya’s even noticed Shizuo talking.

“Now,” Shizuo prompts again, and he knows that Izaya can’t even begin to do it alone but that’s sort of the point. He’s maybe not entirely sure what pretending away Izaya’s injury is supposed to accomplish, but it feels necessary. Like a solution, maybe.

Or maybe he’s just skirting the issue, himself.

Izaya shrugs. “Bossy Shizu-chan,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t make anything like a move away from the door or from Shizuo.

“What’s your problem?” the blonde hisses, crossing his arms on his chest and leaning heavily into the wall behind Izaya – a weak attempt at holding the anger back, but that’s fine because it’s been getting a little easier lately, anyway. “I don’t wanna deal with a sick flea that won’t even admit to being sick.”

“I’m –”

Izaya stops, wide-eyed and then he smiles half-hesitantly.

Shizuo narrows his own eyes, shakes his head in disgust and then Izaya starts again, “I guess I am, Shizu-chan, but not exactly in the way you think.”

The look in his eyes says that he thinks he’s hiding the punch line to some big joke from Shizuo, but –

– aah, dammit –

“Better?” Izaya wonders, sounding suddenly more confident in the face of his host’s apparent consternation.

Shizuo snorts just a little _too_ emphatically. “Whatever, then. You can sleep in that, can’t you?”

“The chair?” Izaya wonders, disbelief coloring his voice. “Or, what – these clothes?” He chuckles softly. “That’s terrible, Shizu-chan. And here I thought you were honestly worried about me, being sick and all.”

“That’s not it,” Shizuo mutters – quietly enough, of course, that he’s sure Izaya can’t make out the words.

“Really, though,” Izaya continues obliviously, and in an instant his voice lowers to the sheepish tone from before, “I wish you’d help, just this once.”

“Once?” Shizuo scoffs. “There’re fucking months of this left, flea.”

Izaya sighs, more loudly this time. “Shizu-chan, if you…”

“What?”

“If you hate this that much, I suppose” – forced smile-smirk with eyes closed to hide something less than funny – “I could let you off the hook soon. The deal was just for a few days, anyway, and to be entirely honest I don’t think even I can take much more of this.”

Shizuo’s just a little insulted in spite of himself, because damned if it doesn’t sound like Izaya’s trying to say that he’s not capable of handling this – and what the fuck is he trying to do, lying through his teeth when it’s beyond obvious that the last thing he wants is to leave here?

That anger – the restless kind, the bubbling-just-beneath-the-surface and he wants to scream or draw his fist back for several heavy blows but he’s not going to, not going to scare or amuse Izaya and now Whatever’s Wrong With the Flea is less important than being pissed off at just not _knowing._

“It’s over,” he hisses, “when I fucking say so, Izaya- _kun.”_

**~**

And so it goes. Izaya splutters his bewildered way through having his clothes changed, through a trip to the bathroom and water with pain medication and when Shizuo finishes with the flourish of _you can use my bed for now_ the informant can’t so much as devise words in response.

He darkens to an incredible shade of pink, though, and – and _that._

That, Shizuo thinks. That’s the problem. Shizuo’s just responding to Izaya’s stupid tendency to assume that he knows what the blonde’s thinking – and, dammit, he can do this just fine, really, no problem – but to Izaya it’s maybe something more, something to imagine with or something painful.

Mixed signals. Hope. Shizuo doesn’t even know, but he’d be fucking ecstatic if the whole thing’d just go away. Disappear. Gone. Never happened, no one saw anything no injury no red-turning-fidgeting-shyness no _nothing._

“Just accept it,” Shizuo grumbles at length, stirring of something like awkward embarrassment coloring his own turning-away from Izaya. “That’s the kind of thing you’d usually do, right? Act like you deserve it.”

He can hear Izaya’s smile in his exhausted-amused voice. “Meaning that I don’t actually deserve anything as fancy as a real bed, then?”

“You don’t deserve to be _alive.”_

A long pause.

“Thanks,” Izaya says, and for once his tone is almost perfectly blank. “Thanks a lot, Shizu-chan.”

“…‘Night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm leaving for another trip early tomorrow morning, but don't worry - I'll still have Internet/computer access every once in a while to write and post new chapters. This is just a heads-up that they may come a tad bit more infrequently for the next three weeks, as well. ^^;
> 
> For anyone that's been waiting all this time for an update, thank you so much! :D


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He hates everything about this, and he loves it all for what it is._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The kink meme has finally moved on to part 12, so the rest of this fic will be posted - well, here to AO3, of course, but now its home on LJ is the [overflow for part 11](http://drrrkink.livejournal.com/7382.html?view=25022678#t25022678). That really doesn't change anything here, so just a heads-up, I guess. :)

There’s something wrong.

Izaya can sense that pretty clearly – has for a while now, starting last night and it’s only gotten worse with the passing of twenty-four long hours – and the problem’s not in the whisper of rice cooking or the sharp edge of a knife slapping the cutting board in Shizuo’s kitchen. It’s not the difficulty Izaya has in reaching the counter from his chair, either, and it’s not that he keeps forgetting what to do next because he can’t help noticing Shizuo working with all the confidence of a serious chef.

Heck, the problem’s not even that – the surprise of Shizuo being what amounts to a better cook than Izaya – and the informant’s happy, really, even if their meal _will_ be mostly the fruit of Shizuo’s efforts. Izaya can at least boast of having helped, and then this is just another moment of almost-nearness that should be able to provide him with at least a vague sense of comfort.

He just showered – _whole place reeks of flea,_ he’d grumbled beforehand, and Izaya’d flushed and glanced away to hide just how much he liked the idea that his scent was mingling with Shizuo’s in some grand gesture of foolishly romantic symbolism – and his hair looks unsurprisingly good wet, too. Izaya has to impose upon Shizuo to have his clothes changed and to take his _own_ showers, which means that he’s – well, not _accustomed_ to the physical proximity, but at the very least he’s sure already that the brute’s normal body temperature is about twenty degrees above that of a normal human’s.

Izaya’s kicking himself for the cliché even before he thinks to himself that Shizuo looks like he’s currently lingering at around fifteen extra degrees above that.

It’s just – the steam and Shizuo opening his mouth wide to enjoy the cool air – _you always take such hot showers, Shizu-chan_ , and _are you certain that you can afford that when you’re not even working?_ Shizuo’s already explained everything to his boss, of course, and there’s no problem there anymore but Izaya loves pushing Shizuo’s buttons and Shizuo loves to react with little adorable glares and bitten-back fits of rage and that makes the provocation worth it.

He looks good in the messy, ugly clothes he wears around the house. He looks good with his hair all disheveled and the guard-down expressions he doesn’t mean to let his enemy see. Izaya likes the way Shizuo wants to be mad but can’t help letting the guilt show on his face every time he notices Izaya’s still-too-tight brace and the way he sometimes rubs at the limp flesh of his legs.

There’s no problem there, of course. Nothing wrong with a bit of eye candy in the midst of a lot of awkward embarrassment, but –

– it’s just…

It’s the quiet.

No – not that. Quiet makes sense here, but it’s usually the kind born of what’s supposed to be mutual dislike. It’s natural, which makes it comfortable.

 _This_ quiet is tense. There’s an extra heaviness in the air between them that feels anything but normal.

“Feeling okay?” Shizuo wonders blandly for the umpteenth time today. Izaya would be flattered if it weren’t for the lack of enthusiasm; it’s like the blonde’s just going through the motions of what he considers to be nothing more than a chore.

He doesn’t actually _care,_ but he’s said it himself – a sick flea is an extra-annoying one.

 _Tough luck, Shizu-chan,_ the informant thinks with a strong hint of bitterness. _That part of me’s not getting any better, and you can’t even summon up the nerve to make me leave. Guess we’re stuck like this, then, for as long as you’ll still put up with –_

“Izaya.”

His vision clears quickly as he blinks to dispel the silent monologue. He’s been doing that a lot, and it’s been getting him absolutely nowhere. He only does it because it’s the only way he knows how to vent his own frustration when speech and fits of inappropriate laughter or tears and purely childish tantrums would only ever humiliate him further in front of his Shizu-chan.

He hates everything about this, and he loves it all for what it is. He doesn’t stand a chance, but he can’t help hoping and nothing about Shizuo is helping that. He knows exactly how bad it would be for the brute to find out about his purely insane attraction to him, but something in Izaya likes dropping suicidal hints, anyway.

Another cliché: it’s really and truly eating him up inside.

He’s not used to it – not this – but he somehow manages to hide it all behind a practiced smile.

“That makes twenty-one times, Shizu-chan.”

Twenty-one times, already – _feeling okay, are you doing alright, you’re not gonna keel over, are you – ?_

The blonde looks taken aback. “What the hell – you’ve been counting?”

“Does it look like I have anything better to do?”

Normally, his response would have been a conversation-ender. Shizuo would have been prompted to grit his teeth or storm off and the distance between them would have been just as it always was.

So maybe Izaya wants Shizuo to answer him. Maybe he wants another conversation. A real one.

“Finish washing those,” the blonde suggests grumpily. He nods at the potatoes lying untouched in front of Izaya – practically at eye level, and yeah it’s hard but he’s already insisted that he be allowed to do this – before turning back to his own corner of the tiny kitchen.

Izaya smiles forlornly as he reaches up to resume his task. He’d like to keep the conversation going, but to do so now would be to force it.

He wants something… _natural._ Like hating Shizuo, but of course that’s been impossible for a long time now.

 _Like Shizuo hating me,_ he decides. Like that turning into something different. Black magic. Some kind of miracle.

It’ll never happen.

**~**

“It’s not bad at all, Shizu-chan,” Izaya murmurs approvingly as he leans in for another spoonful of curry. It’s not nearly as spicy as it should be, of course, but the flavor really is incredible.

It’s definitely better than Izaya’s own recipe.

“You helped,” Shizuo grumbles, and it’s not that he’s trying to be modest – no, it’s more like he’s just annoyed that Izaya would compliment him to begin with. He hasn’t so much as touched his own food, but he’s been staring hard at it for the past several minutes.

And so the distance grows…

“If you’re not hungry,” Izaya offers with a flippant grin, “I’d be happy to take care of that for you.”

He wouldn’t – doesn’t eat half as much as this brute probably could – but he’d take almost anything over the sight of Shizuo picking at nothing and refusing to speak for the next hour.

Shizuo just grunts, though, and finally picks up his spoon. He doesn’t look at Izaya and doesn’t appear to be enjoying the taste of what he’s eating even as he begins to shovel it mechanically into his mouth.

“That’s the second time,” Izaya finds himself sighing under his breath.

Shizuo twitches and finally raises his eyes to meet Izaya’s.

“The second time what?” he wonders suspiciously.

“I’m trying to have a conversation with Shizu-chan,” Izaya pouts before he can think to stop himself, “but you’re not cooperating at all. How do you make it in society with a personality like that, anyway?”

Shizuo blinks and slowly lowers his hand with its spoonful of curry back to the table. “Huh. Can’t believe you told me that _I_ suck at stuff like that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Why’d you wanna talk to me, anyway?” Shizuo returns the challenge.

Izaya struggles with the heat that’s threatening to stain his cheeks again. “Even I can’t help it if the silence is more or less uncomfortable, Shizu-chan.”

Shizuo stares at him for a long time before responding. “I couldn’t tell.”

Izaya lets his eyes convey his confusion. Shizuo sighs but doesn’t begrudge him another explanation.

“That you were trying to actually talk to me. It was almost the same as always…” The blonde hesitates, then, and lets his voice fade into nothing more than a quiet sigh. There’s a far-away look in his eyes, now, and to be honest it almost scares Izaya.

He’s slipping entirely out of reach…

The informant glances off to one side as his heart begins to thump desperately in his chest. “You’re thinking that I’ve changed, ne?”

“Well,” Shizuo admits, reaching up as his own face darkens to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck. “At least explain yourself a little. There’s no point in hiding – y’know, things. I mean – because we have to be this close to each other for so long…”

Izaya winces as his chest tightens about his racing heart. “That’s just it, Shizu-chan. You’re just not used to things like this. Have you ever spent this much time so close to another person – let alone _me?”_

He’s making excuses. It might be because he’s scared – because he’s not the only one who’s different, because Shizuo is finally talking to him and because the conversation’s so quickly come to center on this topic and everything it entails.

Because Izaya’s lacked even the barest hint of control from word one.

Shizuo grits his teeth. He looks like he doesn’t want to answer, but he forces a response anyway because Izaya’s words are _(probably)_ as unsatisfying as they are insulting. “You know there’s more to it than that, bastard.”

Of _course_ he does, damn it all, and suddenly Shizuo’s comment seems full of fire. It stings and it aches and this freak of nature has a lot of nerve – so much nerve, more than he deserves to have and more than Izaya’s ever known when it comes to things like this. Shizuo has so much – to be so oblivious, to seem so intuitive, to understand without trying and to chase bliss in ignorance while Izaya’s one and only option lies in plunging into the fray –

“Think so?” Izaya finds himself hissing back. “If you ever figure it out, be sure to let me know.”

He’s an idiot. He’s such an idiot, but it’s no longer possible to take that back.

Impossibilities, he’s used to. Regret, too.

Shizuo surprises him one more time before excusing himself from the table. He frowns, nods and murmurs something about giving that some thought. He acts like he’s just accepted a legitimate challenge, and Izaya –

“Careful what you wish for – bastard flea.”

– well, the bad feeling’s just gotten a lot worse.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He’s not sure when, exactly, the thought enters his head, but as soon as it does it quickly makes itself impossible to ignore._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the long wait. My vacation has finally come to an end, but the fun's just getting started with Otakon - I'm leaving early-ish tomorrow for that and am all set to go with two "crossplays" - Shizuo and Tsugaru, naturally. ;D
> 
> (In other words, I won't be updating again until Sunday at the earliest.)

Should the two of them surviving together for another two days after that count as a miracle? Izaya’s not sure, but that’s probably because he’s barely holding up, anyway. In forty-eight hours, he’s only rarely heard Shizuo’s voice. He’s caught the brute glaring hard at him more than once, but on every one of those occasions Shizuo’s immediate reaction has been to turn away and pretend that he’s been properly ignoring Izaya all along.

He’s not mad – at least not incredibly – but that hardly makes anything better, same as always, so Izaya worries and fights himself and his idiot feelings and the change in Shizuo as if his life depended on it. He blames his brace for making it hard to breathe and wishes more than anything that he could stand the fuck up just _once_ for a walk or maybe to run away, but in the end his physical problems are nothing next to the psychological stress of Shizuo’s attitude and the being there with him to face it.

He’s not sure when, exactly, the thought enters his head, but as soon as it does it quickly makes itself impossible to ignore.

_He knows._

It’s Izaya’s worst fear and his only wish, but he’s too messed up and cowardly to say it or hide it properly. Left floating in the semi-open like that, it’s only natural that perceptive Shizu-chan’s figured it out – no, he doesn’t even have to have made it that far. It’s enough for him to suspect it, because from there certainty’s just around the corner.

“So, Shizu-chan,” Izaya speaks through the cotton in his mouth. By then he’s already been dwelling on the possibility for hours, and of course every curious glance he’s cast in Shizuo’s direction has yielded little more than tense irritation and there-and-gone glares. “About those conversations…”

It’s supposed to be a casually sarcastic attempt at breaking Shizuo’s façade, but for all that Izaya tries the words still come out sounding disgustingly pitiful.

“What about ‘em?” Shizuo snaps, but there’s definitely a note of surprise mixed into that flurry of forced anger. Izaya’s caught him off-guard by taking the initiative, and it’s honestly satisfying, that; it feels like his first victory in far too long.

It’s almost enough to offset the frustration of losing control to someone Izaya wants to hate.

“First you ruin my legs,” he sulks, and he’s not smiling but he’s doing his best to work up to it, “and then you refuse to let me leave your apartment when I finally offer to take myself off your hands.”

Shizuo’s practically cringing as he looks away again.

 _There – that’s exactly it,_ Izaya thinks with a short pang of regret, and he puts it into words almost without meaning to. “And then you won’t even look at me except to help with” – Izaya’s tentative smile fades into an embarrassed blush before he can think to stop it – “with whatever basic hygiene needs attention at any given moment…”

Shizuo rolls his eyes and somehow still fails to look directly at Izaya. “You have a mouth. Talk if you want.”

Izaya stumbles over a few syllables before he gives up to glare furiously into his lap. He’s sitting in the stupid wheelchair again, and as if that sight weren’t already annoying enough as it is, he’s also forced to put up with the glare of an ugly set of very red, very huge sweatpants – Shizuo’s, of course, but there’s no reason for Izaya to have to wear them now that he has some of his own clothes – courtesy of Shinra.

 It’s just that the air was and is too thick here to allow for words or complaints, so when Shizuo decided to spite him with this Izaya shut right up and let him.

He hates that he did and that he can’t say anything even now.

“There’s no point talking to a wall,” he mutters, then, and Shizuo responds by turning to glare straight at him.

 _Finally,_ he thinks, but that vague sense of relief is immediately replaced by one of dread as Shizuo takes one and then another step toward him with his fists already half-raised.

“Know what?” the blonde hisses, and Izaya bites his lower lip, feels fear and tears threatening and tries to roll his chair back a few inches – to escape.

It’s no good, of course, because Shizuo meets that bet and raises it some with another several feet.

“If you want something from me,” the blonde snarls, and his hand’s already curled about the collar of Izaya’s T-shirt in an all-too familiar gesture of what-comes-next fight glinting in both their eyes the way it always used to be –

“Shizu-chan, what –?!”

“You have to fucking give something in return, idiot!”

Izaya thrashes his head from side to side – denial, confusion, _I’m so sorry, Shizu-chan, but that isn’t –_ as both his hands find Shizuo’s one. His eyes are stinging with tears and it’s not because he’s afraid for his own safety but because he’s afraid of slipping back or losing what little semblance of warmth and closeness he’s had here. Because he’s afraid of seeing this anger as something purer than he wants it to be –

– that little something more, that crucial extra layer of raw emotion and everything he wishes it could mean for them both.

“I would,” he groans. “You just don’t get it, Shizu-chan – I can’t, not as long as you’re…”

_…like this…_

Shizuo’s brown eyes turn steely. He thrusts Izaya back into his wheelchair, ignoring as he does so the muffled whimper born of Izaya’s back and legs erupting into sparks and waves of throbbing hurt. It feels like various points all along his body are detaching themselves from his awareness only to come back together in tiny bursts of agony, and as it worsens he finds himself sobbing and wordless before a gaping space of no one there.

He can hear Shizuo’s voice somewhere above and behind him as he throws his arms about himself in an attempt to hold everything in – control, he needs control and he needs to hear Shizu-chan, too, he needs to hear every word –

_“…think that’s actually fair, you idiot scumbag?! I don’t fucking read minds, and I wouldn’t even put up with this if it weren’t for –”_

“Shizu – Shizu-chan, please,” he groans, as desperate now for relief as he is for reassurance. “Shizu-chan, it – it hurts!”

The thunder of Shizuo’s raised voice dies down, then, but the ensuing silence only drones on and on into a steady ache of helpless want and invisible teeth gnawing all the way down to bare bone.

He’s gone…


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He needs something just a little more tangible to hold on to._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School's starting soon and I've still got loads of summer homework to do. I'd kill to write and update a bit more than I have been lately, but for now it's still difficult and I'm really sorry about that!

Shizuo leaves Izaya alone in his chair and that stupid brace and a room now ringing with the sharp sobs of falling to pieces and Shizuo’s nickname on endless repeat.

Hunched over the trembling hands he’s holding close to his flushed-red face, the blonde can’t help hearing that pathetic monologue – _Shizu-chan, Shizu-chan, please come please_ and then nothing but the first three syllables of desperation – and that’s not even it, actually. The way Izaya says it makes it seem less desperate and more like the name itself is almost enough. Like the one and only best solution to the pain is the one who just went and _caused_ it.

“Idiot,” Shizuo hisses into his hands. He means Izaya, but – on second thought, he might actually mean himself, too.

The calling doesn’t stop, but it does let up long enough to emphasize the obvious crash of a failed lunge forward. That’s when Shizuo’s name starts to take turns with muted whimpers and gasps meant to smother screams. There’s a soft clicking underlying that, like maybe the wheels of the overturned chair are still spinning madly and going nowhere.

“Don’t move,” Shizuo pleads hoarsely, but he doesn’t stand up to do anything and his head is ringing. He thinks it must be that damn flea’s scent and the rumpled blankets and they’re practically soaked in it thanks to – to –

“Shizu –”

“Shut up!” he demands all at once and with the whole force of the air in his lungs. He’s loud enough that not only Izaya but also most of his neighbors – and they already hated him, anyway – must be able to hear him yelling. He hates the sound of it and he hates that it doesn’t even stop the flea’s crying – just makes it worse, makes it more and faster and sloppier – and he hates that even then he can’t budge from the edge of the bed and wrinkled sheets.

He hates confusion, especially when it’s an intentional result of fancy words and skirting the meat of a given topic. He may be guilty of that now, but that’s only because the confusion of maybe being loved like this is too much. It’s fake, must be, but nothing he’s done so far has proved that and all it really points to is honest truth.

He says it out loud this time because he needs something just a little more tangible to hold on to.

“We’re supposed to hate each other…”

**~**

When Izaya finally goes completely silent, time starts moving again. Shizuo is so suddenly jolted back into total awareness that the quiet might as well be an echoingly loud noise, and in a vacuum he at last manages to find the strength to stand up and stumble past his nightstand and clothes – his and Izaya’s, all mixed up and strewn about the floor just to hopefully piss the flea off – until he reaches the open door.

“Sorry,” he finds himself whispering. He’s half-asleep and heavy and he hasn’t even seen the shape of Izaya sprawled out on the floor yet, but his mouth’s already dry and his breath’s coming fast and he knows to expect it. He knows that doing everything in his power won’t be nearly enough to make perfect amends, knows how little provocation he’d need to do it all over again and that’s why he has to apologize until he’s washed at least some of the guilt away –

There’s no one there.

There’s the wheelchair – overturned and looking just as dejected as Shizuo had imagined, wheels no longer spinning and it somehow seems like it’s been left that way for years – and the floor beside it is totally bare. No sign of Izaya, no tragic clichés like dropped shoes or rings or whatever the hell else.

Shizuo’s alone again in his apartment.

His mind goes blanker and blanker with every solitary beat of his heart. He stops feeling and he’d probably think he wasn’t breathing if it weren’t for the fact that he’s still conscious. His limbs all feel light as air, but he’s as paralyzed now as he was back in his bedroom with Izaya crying for him here.

Kidnapped? A dream? Or maybe he called Shinra – maybe Shizuo was more than just half-asleep, maybe he was completely knocked out and he missed something or maybe he has amnesia…

Shizuo shudders as he curses. He feels sick, like he might throw up, and as soon as he realizes that his front door’s open he reaches it in a few long strides. Fills the aching silence with his own cries renewed volume and Izaya’s name sans any of his usual nicknames.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

He bolts past mostly closed doors and even gets yelled at by some pissed-off middle-aged guy, but he doesn’t stop doesn’t apologize doesn’t even care that he’s making himself more enemies in his own damn building and _– look –_ the stairs are there and he reaches them barely slows to descend and –

– he’s in luck –

– or at least –

– he wasn’t kidnapped, but…

“I-Izaya,” Shizuo whispers as he slows to a stunned stop.

The little body’s so close that Shizuo could easily reach out and touch it, but even so there’s no reaction and no struggle when the blonde leans in to shake his shoulder – shake him awake, drag him back up and out for apologies and maybe even awkward comfort – but he doesn’t move doesn’t move doesn’t…

“Hey,” Shizuo chokes. “Hey, c’mon…”

He can feel himself freezing up again, but worry proves suddenly stronger than fear and he manages to drag two trembling fingers up past the flea’s still chest to the little spot behind and below his ear where you’re supposed to be able to feel a pulse…

Oh – oh no, _god_ no…

Biting his lip, the blonde tries shifting lower – to the side – and up again and…

And, fuck, it doesn’t matter ‘cause he can’t feel anything beyond the desperate pounding of his own heart. He can’t see any rise and fall and Izaya’s other side and his wrists and everything else is the same.

There’s a lump in Shizuo’s throat and he’s crying before he’s even registered the slight pain of letting grief go in waves. Feels like time’s slowing to a stop right here, like maybe just maybe he’d do anything – anything just to –

“Shi… zu…”

_Izaya._

The informant’s eyes are barely open, but his gaze is fixed squarely on Shizuo’s face and there’s life in the red glint.

“You,” Shizuo breathes, voice shivery and quiet, “you…”

Izaya groans, tries to turn his head to one side and barely succeeds before he has to cringe and let Shizuo hold him still. The corners of his lips twitch upward as he guesses, “Idiot?”

“You did this?” Shizuo realizes. “You” _– escaped got out ran away –_ “but how?”

Izaya’s eyes flutter shut and then open again. He lowers his gaze pointedly to rest on his arms – one bent at a painfully strange angle, Shizuo notices, and the pang of guilt and rage is almost more than he can bear.

“You… pulled yourself…?”

Izaya laughs tiredly, and given that it seems to hurt him so much he must have quite a few broken ribs impeding what little breathing he’s still doing. His cheeks are a tear-stained red and although he makes another attempt at speaking he fails and a new flow of tears starts instead.

Maybe it’s because this is all his fault, but on top of worried and exhausted Shizuo’s just plain relieved that this bastard is still breathing, after all, that he’s not dead getting cold alone in front of some rundown apartment building.

Right. He’s relieved that Orihara Izaya is still alive to taunt him another day.

Shizuo doesn’t wait for Izaya to get a grip. He doesn’t move him, doesn’t speak to him but holds him still and doesn’t let go.

He pulls out his cell phone and calls Shinra for help and it’s funny, isn’t it –

– that this is the second time he’s done that in so few days?


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Too much like Shizuo needing help, too – the same kind of help as Izaya, the obvious kind that one can’t help noticing and talking about, the kind you wear on your sleeves and close to your heart._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After posting a couple of chapters separately on the overflow post, I decided to make a new thread there to keep all new chapters together and more easily accessible. The link for that thread is [here](http://drrrkink.livejournal.com/7382.html?thread=25070550#t25070550).

When Shinra finally closes his bag of medical supplies with a decisive _click,_ Shizuo actually succeeds _not only_ in knocking down the chair he’s been stationed in for the past few hours, but also in kicking the leg hard enough that it snaps clean in half. He’s still working to slow his breathing and his heart – not entirely willing to worry as much as he has, not quite sure that he wants to wish Izaya well for once in his life and scared because he knows without making any concrete decisions that he has plenty more to say than just “sorry.”

The sound of his sudden outburst is, after all, nothing next to the harshly methodical clamor of everything Shizuo could swear he’s still hearing.

The groans and gasps and Shinra murmuring that _you shouldn’t worry, it’s really not bad at all so just hang in there, okay?_

The sick crack of a broken bone being forced back into place – and Izaya biting an old belt of Shizuo’s, trying not to make a big deal of it trying to be strong and looking way too small and hurt to be that at all.

Shinra’s quiet instructions, flashlight clicking on and off to check the dilation of Izaya’s pupils and then the heavy shuffle of pencil on paper.

The slow glide of tears and Izaya going out of his way not to see Shizuo there in the corner of the bedroom.

_Why does that bother him so much?_

“Done,” Shinra announces, and Shizuo’s never been more relieved or more reluctant in his life.

**~**

Izaya sleeps, but that’s only because he’s lucky enough to have a friend who’s a doctor and willing to shell out way more feel-good pain relievers than any single person should ever ingest in a single night. The informant gazes up at his friend and at Shizuo through pain-fogged eyes for a while before that, though, and it seems like he wants to ask for something more than just the pure, physical relief –

– like maybe how long he’s going to be stuck like this now, who’s supposed to help him and when he’ll probably wind up leaving Shizuo’s place –

– but he doesn’t, after all, just lets it all go with nothing more than a promise from Shinra that “I imagine you’ll be awake again sooner than you think.”

With Shinra, of course, it’s not as easy as leaving it for later.

“Do you even want to know?” he wonders even before Shizuo has a chance to ask. They’ve left Izaya behind in the too-small bedroom, flicked the lights off and shut the door.

It’s almost like he’s stopped existing in this vacuum of tense discussion and stupid worry.

Shizuo opens his mouth. Closes it. Finally opens it again and then manages to formulate something that sounds like an answer in the affirmative.

He does want to know, after all. He really does.

“It’s nearly impossible to tell the extent of the damage without proper equipment, but the fracture in his spine does seem to have worsened considerably. That’s likely to lengthen the time it’ll take Izaya-kun to recover, but I’m more worried about what comes after.”

Shinra pauses, then, and seems to be waiting for Shizuo – wide-eyed and apprehensive Shizuo, chest hurting with the force of his heart beating and his hands curling into fists – to prompt more information out of him. When that doesn’t happen, though, he sighs and reluctantly continues, “The rehabilitation is going to be grueling, Shizuo-kun, and even then I can’t guarantee that he’ll regain the same mobility he had before.”

Shizuo blinks. “Y’mean – like running from me.”

So much for that. It was supposed to have been their eventual return to normalcy. Cat and mouse chases. Scaling walls, screaming and taunting and property damage.

The doctor rolls his eyes. “I mean parkour in general. That sort of thing would put way more strain on his body than he’s going to be able to handle for years to come.”

“Years…?” Shizuo clears his throat. “And his arm?”

“Not good,” Shinra states blandly.

“I need more.”

“It’ll probably take around three months for that to heal,” Shinra grudgingly explains. He sounds impatient, too – mad, even, that Shizuo can still have the nerve to ask after going so far out of his way to let it happen.

Shizuo can’t blame him for that – not even for a second – but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t still hurt a little.

“Let him stay,” he whispers, and this time he doesn’t just find himself saying it; he does it on purpose. “Here.”

Shinra shakes his head slowly, regretfully, and Shizuo waits for him to say that it’s not a good idea. That he’s sorry but Izaya needs time to relax _and so do you_ but that never comes and the two wind up staring each other down as the quiet stretches on and on into a dull thrum of tired hope.

Maybe it’s crazy and stupid and hopelessly irrelevant, but Shizuo can imagine being left alone in this echoey little apartment of his – alone and longing and nothing but guilt and lonely regret and little reminders of the niche that Orihara Izaya’s been so long in carving here.

His clothes, one or two articles of which’d definitely get left behind by mistake. Shizuo can see it now. The wrinkles in the sheets and the couch and the just-there tracks pressed into the carpet by his wheelchair. The after-echo of every last thing the flea’s said here. His smell.

“I’m not sure whether to apologize to Izaya-kun or to you, you know,” Shinra sighs at length.

“What’s that s’posed to mean?”

That the two of them never should’ve been left alone together? That Shinra – probably knowing everything or at least something about Izaya’s feelings, the little prick – should’ve done something to prevent an outcome like this?

That every alternative is as bad as the option it seeks to replace?

That Shizuo’s somehow been hurt as badly as Izaya in the aftermath of these few days?

“He came looking for me years ago,” Shinra clarifies quietly, and then he chuckles before continuing. “He was a mess – I remember that much. Celty and I must be some of the only people alive who’ve seen Orihara Izaya in a state like that.”

“You… and me, too,” Shizuo comments half-bitterly. He’s ready to dwell on that – Izaya unbalanced, Izaya doubting himself blushing and in tears – but his thought process catches belatedly, then, on the first part of Shinra’s explanation. “…Years?”

Shinra nods. “To be honest, I don’t remember exactly when it was. Probably some time just after our graduation, but” – he eyes Shizuo curiously, measuring his reactions and the spark of interest warming his cheeks – “he asked me if there was some way to get rid of it.”

Shizuo raises an eyebrow. “Flea’s not actually that stupid, is he…?”

Shinra laughs. This time, the expression is one of genuine amusement. “When it comes to things like that, who knows? He was desperate, to say the least.”

 _Desperate._ The word sounds wrong, implies the wrong thing – that none of this was ever even remotely about having harmlessly obnoxious fun with Shizuo – not about teasing or laughter or anything else that’s supposed to be so second-nature to Izaya.

Desperate because Izaya’s known all along how poorly this suits them, how little sense it makes and yet he’s been enduring for years the pull of an attraction he wants nothing to do with.

Right –

– he –

“He never wanted this, either,” Shizuo realizes. His chest tightens, then, and he can feel that his eyes are wide and the rest of his body losing tension to the wall against which he practically collapses. Shinra watches him and looks alarmed but does nothing, and when Shizuo speaks again it’s with just a little more conviction. “He didn’t come to… win me over – or anything, just – maybe he wanted to –”

“If you’re about to say that he asked to stay with you just so that he could finally ‘get over it’ or something, you’re wrong.”

“But –”

“He’s been living with it for nearly a decade already, Shizuo-kun. What could any of this possibly do for him now?”

Even as he speaks, Shinra spreads his arms wide, palms facing upward and fingers splayed. He doesn’t look mad despite the pose, though – just tired and more sympathetic than he was ever probably willing to be. “I talked to him myself. I tried to remind him how unlikely it was to end well, but you know – he still wanted this.”

Shizuo forces a smile, but the crease between his eyebrows stays. “I guess… I still don’t get him at all, Shinra.”

Shinra doesn’t respond. He waits patiently.

And it’s funny, actually, because he’s right to do that. Shizuo’s not done yet.

“I mean, why’s he keep doing things he knows’re gonna hurt him? And what’s he ever seen in me – when I’ve never once done anything nice for him…?”

What will he want to do when he wakes up? Will he reject Shizuo only now – now that rejection is a real fear in the blonde’s mind?

Shinra sighs long and soft. He seems calm enough as it is, but Shizuo’s tension could easily be catching.

They could both be worrying about Izaya.

“Here’s my personal theory, Shizuo-kun,” he begins. “There’s never been a single person who could definitively prove the origin of emotions as vague and changeable as ‘love.’ It’s never been explained to the satisfaction of any kind of majority. It’s certainly possible to make use of it when it appears in others, but it can’t be controlled by anyone – let alone the one in whom it resides.”

“Enough with the philosophical shit , Shinra–”

“Then, Shizuo-kun, do you honestly believe that you have what it takes to define what Izaya-kun feels toward you? Can you tell me right here and now that anyone – Izaya-kun included – knows where it all started? How it all began? Do you think anyone knows how to help him – or _you,_ for that matter?”

Shizuo freezes. His blood runs cold, his heart racing as his cheeks heat up and his limbs disconnect from his body all over again.

_Help._

“I’m not – Shinra, I’m not –”

The doctor shakes his head.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs, relaxing so that he looks as exhausted as he should be feeling right about now. “I really am. I’ve already said too much, haven’t I?”

_Too much._

Too much like Shizuo needing help, too – the same kind of help as Izaya, the obvious kind that one can’t help noticing and talking about, the kind you wear on your sleeves and close to your heart.

Shizuo understands, suddenly, just exactly what it must have been like for Izaya all those years ago – the desperation, the fear and the falling. The wanting it all to just go away.

The knowing that the stain of attachment’s already too deep and huge to be erased so easily.

“If you want to know so much about him,” Shinra murmurs, “you’ll have to ask him yourself. That’s the easiest way to go about it, don’t you think?”

It feels way too impossible to be true, but Shizuo agrees with a nod nevertheless.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _What ever happened to hiding his emotions behind a wall of clever façade?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapter updates in one twenty-four hour period! Wow. Basically, I want to finish this before the school year begins, so expect at least one more chapter before Monday. ~~The end is nigh...~~

Izaya falls asleep wanting to wake up soon, but his first thought on coming to is that he’d really like to be unconscious again. He’s hopelessly tired, after all, and yet his injuries seem determined to hold him way up above the soothing tide of sleep. Shinra’s stupid pills aren’t working half as well as they should be.

And then, of course, there’s Shizu-chan.

Izaya could reach out and touch him if he wanted to, but something in the blonde’s quiet demeanor holds him back. He’s doubled way over his knees, both hands held to his head – fingers woven into his hair, bloodless white at the tips like he’s holding on pretty hard and that’s the only thing about him that suggests wakefulness. He’s not moving, after all, and his breathing’s so quiet that even at this range Izaya can’t quite make it out –

– until the near-perfect silence is finally broken by a quiet sniffling, muted and wet and as it becomes an obvious sob, Shizuo finally twitches to life.

He raises his eyes, first, so that his long bangs are no longer hiding the dark streaks and lamp-lit shine of tears.

He shudders, then, too, and takes a minute to focus on the informant’s still form – trying to make out his face, maybe, through all the stinging salt. His breathing staggers its way to a breakneck pace and he lowers both hands – one to his lap, the other so that it covers his left eye just briefly.

As Izaya’s own eyes widen in surprise, Shizuo seems to realize – too late, of course – that he’s crying in front of someone very much awake. He straightens up and immediately looks away, reaching up as he does so to rub desperately at his face – long, heavy motions that obscure most of his pale mask and angry red.

“I – Izaya…”

Izaya expects him to give up quickly, but the tears don’t stop and neither does Shizuo. It’s only when it starts to look like his efforts are hurting him that Izaya finds the will to speak up – “You’re a mess, Shizu-chan,” he notes, his own voice soft enough that for a moment he doubts whether Shizuo’s even heard it.

To Izaya’s relative surprise, though, the blonde shakes his head to acknowledge that he understands. He doesn’t lower his hands, but he does stop trying to force himself to calm down. “D-didn’t think you’d wake up that fast...”

“Is that supposed to operate as some kind of excuse?”

Shizuo shakes his head again, but this time he complements the action by also lowering his hands to his lap.

“About earlier,” Izaya murmurs – seeing an opportunity and grudgingly taking it – “That was a stupid thing to do. I won’t apologize, but…” He sighs. “I guess I – I let my emotions get the better of me for once.”

He’s calmed down, now, but the pain of Shizuo’s rage is still there and he’s prepared to face worse.

Worse, like –

“You should’ve told me,” Shizuo accuses.

Izaya’s breath leaves him all at once – hurts, even, like maybe Shizuo’s just gone and punched him with all the force he has to muster. He remembers thinking it before – _he knows –_ and the feeling like he needs to run gets strong and he _hates_ that he can’t, hates this bed and his useless arm and legs and this stupid protozoan, too –

“Wait,” Shizuo breathes. “Don’t – ah, freak out. I just wanna talk. Y’know” – he sighs – “like a conversation…”

“I – I’m not,” Izaya rasps, but inside he wonders just how obvious he actually is.

What ever happened to hiding his emotions behind a wall of clever façade?

Shizuo just grunts and reaches up to wipe away a few beads of moisture from around his eyes. He’s not crying anymore, but it’s obvious that he has been for quite a while.

“Why’d you want me to help you with everything like this?” Shizuo wonders.

It figures, Izaya reflects bitterly, that Shizuo would be so characteristically to-the-point even in a situation like this.

“Shouldn’t you know already?” Izaya snaps. “Or, what, did you just want me to tell you explicitly what I actually think about you?”

 _Because it’d be funny,_ he means, because it’s really worth laughing at - and more, even. He's an idiot, after all, and everything about this screams sheer idiocy.

Shizuo's face reddens.

“You don’t have to,” he says quickly.

Izaya’s eyebrow quirks upward. “You… what are you doing, Shizu-chan?”

“I – just!”

It’s obvious that he’s waiting for Izaya to supply him with a lifeline of words – taunting or otherwise – but the informant refuses to oblige him. He stares, instead, and if Shizuo honestly expects him to guess at something like this he’s got another thing coming.

Let him struggle. Shizuo may have had plenty of time and resources to figure it out, but Izaya’s got no way of knowing that this isn’t going to be just another lie. A joke. A misunderstanding.

Wishful thinking.

Really, where are they going with this…?

“Izaya, I – I talked to Shinra about… you, and – and me…”

“Oh?”

Shizuo hums affirmatively. “He told me how you wanted him to cure you, or – or something.”

Izaya laughs darkly. It hurts his ribs and throat, but the sound is fine and that makes the pain worthwhile.

“Of course,” he whispers. “Who’d ever wanna be head over heels for a monster like you? I have the worst luck.”

“Same to you,” Shizuo grunts.

Izaya feels his heart skip a beat. “What does that mean?”

Shizuo clears his throat, lets his eyes fall shut and holds a fist to his lips. His voice comes out muffled, then, but the words are more than clear enough to be understood.

He’s even blushing.

“It means we have the same problem, ‘s all.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prove to me that you’re really justified in casually throwing words like ‘love’ and ‘trust’ around._

That’s it. That’s his confession. He says it in the most roundabout way possible because he wants to avoid the melodrama of new beginnings, but the look on Izaya’s face says that that was probably a pointless effort.

“Shizu-chan,” he breathes, eyes going all wide and shiny the way they sometimes do when he’s about to start crying again. “Shizu-chan, you – I – I told you not to joke about” – he glances away – “things like that.”

He looks… devastated.

Of course he does…

“I know,” Shizuo hisses. “I swear, after everything, I – I’m not gonna hurt you again. I’ll try not to.”

Izaya laughs, but the sound comes out more like the beginning of a sob. “Yeah, I bet.”

“You don’t have to trust me,” Shizuo tries. His words come out quick, garbled, but he figures it’s fine if it reflects the panic he’s just starting to feel. “I get it. Just – please. Believe _this._ I don’t wanna deal with it any more than you, I think, but” –he clears his throat – “it’s not like love’s a real disease or anything, right? We can –”

Izaya groans, holds his hands to his face and turns completely away from Shizuo – save for his lower body, of course, which remains conspicuously still despite the informant’s best efforts. It’s sort of pathetic, really, but there’s not a lot of space for thoughts like that and besides – Izaya’d hate to be seen that way by anyone, Shizuo included.

He’s shaking now, too, and when Shizuo tries to touch his shoulder he flinches away.

That, right there – it’s probably the worst Shizuo’s felt in months. Years.

Maybe it’s the first time he’s felt this kind of bad at all.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I should’ve said that first…”

“Shizu-chan,” Izaya rasps. “Just… why? Because you think you’re personally responsible for me, now?”

“I – I am! For hurting you, I mean. I was supposed to be there, but I let – ah – all this get in the way of that!”

“Th-that doesn’t mean that you have to –”

“Izaya,” Shizuo growls, maybe just a little more loudly than should be strictly necessary. It shuts the informant up instantly, but that doesn’t do anything for the guilt Shizuo’s already feeling – like maybe Izaya’s really afraid of him, wary of his anger and ready to leave the second he gets the chance. “Izaya,” and he says it more softly this time, “I know. I don’t even want to – or that’s what I thought – but – I know we can’t go back to the way things were and” – he takes a slow, deep breath –

– “I don’t wanna go back.”

Izaya doesn’t answer. He’s shaking, crying, and all Shizuo can think to do is keep going.

“I was kinda lonely, but with you around it’s – different.

“I know I don’t have any right to change my mind like this now, but I – I can’t… I was so worried about you back then, I swear I felt some of the pain – l-like it was my own – yeah, I mean, I know how stupid that sounds…

“I asked Shinra to let you decide. He didn’t wanna leave you here, but I – I told him how I felt, same way you did –”

Izaya rolls back over – not all the way, of course, but just enough that Shizuo can see one eye. He’s crying, after all, but the emotion behind that glint is somehow different from what Shizuo’s been expecting.

“I should’ve known better,” he whispers.

“B-better?”

“Shinra’s not great at keeping secrets, is he?”

“Shinra…?” Shizuo repeats, surprised. “Y-yeah, but – I sorta knew already, anyway…”

Izaya shakes his head. “Yeah, you’re like that, too. You always seem to know what I’m up to, ne?”

Shizuo grins in spite of himself as he accidentally repeats his earlier words to Shinra. “No, I don’t. I don’t get you at all.”

“Do I have any guarantee that you’re not lying?” Izaya wonders. He looks tired, too, and maybe that’s why he turns back to the empty spot on the bed beside him – bare white sheets, unused pillow and maybe just a little colder than Izaya’s side of the mattress. “I’m really not as delicate as I’ve probably seemed lately, Shizu-chan, but don’t think for a second that I’m eager to be hurt by you.”

“I can’t make you trust me,” Shizuo murmurs, fidgeting uncomfortably because maybe he wishes that he could. “I don’t even know if you should.”

“You want me to,” Izaya responds. “Well, I want to, too. It’s a bad joke,” he laughs, “but it shouldn’t take much, Shizu-chan, so prove it to me somehow.”

Prove to me that you’re really justified in casually throwing words like ‘love’ and ‘trust’ around.

That’s fair, Shizuo thinks. That’s more than fair, but it still puts him in sort of a fix.

Unless…

“Hey,” he says suddenly – and he apparently startles Izaya in the process, ‘cause the flea jumps slightly and turns back just enough that he can see Shizuo’s face again. “Do you mind?”

He nods at the vacant spot beside the informant on the bed. The cold, empty, more or less unwrinkled space with all of its conspicuous symbolism.

It’s barely big enough for both of them, but when Izaya hums a hesitant _yes_ Shizuo does manage to find room for himself between Izaya and open air. The bed creaks softly as Shizuo lowers himself down onto it – sitting, first, and then lying down with the other man mere inches away – and the sheets are actually pleasantly cool, but as close as the two of them are – well, Izaya’s not as cold-blooded as Shizuo’s always imagined him to be.

Not that he hadn’t already known that, of course – reluctant closeness having been the name of the game for days already.

Izaya laughs breathlessly. Shizuo can see his face in its entirety only now – and, to his immense surprise, the informant’s still crying silent tears, big slow ones that leave long trails on his cheeks. He doesn’t look sad, though, just – just kind of like Shizuo, overwhelmed and scared and uncertain of what to do next.

Maybe even… happy?

“You look comfortable,” Izaya mumbles after a long interval of awkward quiet.

Shizuo tries to smile before he shifts his weight experimentally. When that doesn’t seem to bother Izaya much, he gives in just a little more – lets himself reach up and wipe away some of the tears that are still escaping the informant’s crumbling guard, smiles and honestly enjoys the extra hint of red that wells up to color the informant’s cheeks.

“Good enough?” he wonders.

Izaya blinks once, twice, and then finally lets his breath go with a long, tired sigh.

He smiles.

“For now, Shizu-chan. Just…”

“Mm?”

The smile widens into a painless grin. “Oh, you know. I fully intend to hold you responsible for this” – he nods at his legs, his arm – “so you’d better be prepared for the worst.”

Shizuo laughs.

“Sure…”

“Shizu-chan?”

Shizuo blinks – realizing only then that he’s completely fine with answering to a name that’s not really his – and Izaya’s eyes widen by degrees as he waits for some verbal form of recognition.

“Y-yeah?”

There – and Izaya frowns, his gaze flitting up and over to the wall behind Shizuo and then back down to his hands in front of him. He whispers something – practically just an exhalation with his lips barely moving enough to trace a word – and when Shizuo looks confused and drifts closer to hear, the frown deepens right along with the blush.

“I said – thanks.”

“E-eh?”

“Thanks,” Izaya repeats, sounding irritated despite the perpetually pink tint to his cheeks. “Thanks for everything. I’m not at all as mad as I should be, you know?”

“Ah,” Shizuo breathes. He can feel his own face getting hot as he says, “A-actually, I should thank you. And I should apologize again –”

“Don’t,” Izaya interrupts. “You’ll ruin it, Shizu-chan.”

“Ruin… what?”

He really doesn’t want to do that, not anymore…

“My good mood,” Izaya whispers, and with a kiss he erases every last shade of pain – everything but the white, all that regret rage fear loneliness and doubt.

It’s almost as good as a simple _I love you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I plan on writing, editing, and finally posting the last chapter by the end of the week, but I have been known to delay things every now and then...
> 
> Thanks so much for reading~!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _There's always a new slant to things, after all..._

Izaya has always loved everything about humans, but that ‘everything’ doesn’t mean that he doesn’t have an undeniable preference for all that is negative, humiliating, shameless, timid, and cruel. Their various relationships with death, their wide-eyed vows and aspirations to high-and-mighty _(and easily deflated)_ morality. Cowardice. Regret. Blindness by choice.

Shizuo doesn’t change that – Izaya’s decidedly bad personality – but that fact in itself is actually nothing short of _great._

He doesn’t want to change, after all, and it’s true now that these months of genuine – if awkward, tentative and occasionally unsettling – affection have Izaya feeling more like himself than he has in a long time. Maybe since just before getting hurt, when everything about Shizuo had been a hundred times more alluring than usual and the injury had come at just the wrong time.

Sometimes, he even stops hating himself for loving Shizuo. Sometimes, he goes so far as to consider himself lucky – that he doesn’t have to yearn uselessly anymore, that he can continue doing what he does best with the blonde at his side. That he’s been accepted as relatively normal despite everything about him that screams casual insanity – and maybe he really likes the companionship, too, the soothing touches and the way Shizuo’s cheeks darken noticeably every time skin brushes skin.

The light kisses pressed to his forehead, his cheeks and then finally his lips.

The truly human side of Heiwajima Shizuo.

It’s really, really stupid – dangerous, even – but Izaya starts to forget about the bad in his constant companion. He’s well-aware of how hard Shizuo’s working to hide it, of course, but even then he should be wary. He should be prepared for betrayal, fits of destructive rage and maybe even mind-numbing boredom.

He can’t prepare for any of that, though, and he doesn’t get tired of a single thing – save, of course, for the immobility – but even then, it’s actually Shizu-chan who notices that first twitch of movement – recovery.

They’re changing for bed when it happens. Shizuo’s got his shirt off, so Izaya can see every tiny flexing of every muscle in his arms and chest as he leans way over the informant.  He’s busy helping him into a pair of just-washed sweats – fresh out of the dryer, which is something Izaya likes but has never explicitly mentioned to Shizuo. Maybe the brute’s just learned to assume that the slight heat temporarily eases the getting-old-and-already-fading pain, or maybe he’s just that good at reading Izaya.

He wouldn’t even mind if the latter explanation turned out to be the correct one. Not now – not here like this and in love, irrationally happy and scared to the point of delirium.

Izaya’s busy thinking along those lines when Shizuo widens his eyes and turns back to the door. He mumbles something about forgetting – a clean shirt, probably – and starts to take a few steps forward, away from Izaya and –

– maybe it’s because of his peculiar train of thought, but –

– he reaches after Shizuo, leans into it as much as he can and calls him back in his usual sing-song way –

– so that Shizuo returns immediately, concerned now and eager to listen eager to help eager to oblige any little request for the closeness he claims he’d never truly had before everything started here.

Izaya’s not really surprised by the quickness of Shizuo’s response, yet still he only manages to react when he realizes just how prominently he feels the weight of Shizuo’s expectant gaze on him. He’s supposed to say something, of course, but the only truth he can come up with is the one about wanting Shizuo to stay for no reason at all.

He hasn’t said anything quite like that yet – anything like telling Shizuo all about every little good thing about him, the way he regrets every moment not spent together and how he feels looking at him, as maddeningly attractive as he so obviously is – and that’s because it’s too cliché, even for him now. It’d be mortifying, which is why he blushes hard and quiet but doesn’t let himself look away.

“D-didn’t you want to – ah –”

Shizuo’s eyes widen again before Izaya can finish stumbling his way through a bad and unplanned excuse. The informant stops talking immediately, then, because it’s not even just that; Shizuo also parts his lips slowly to breathe deep and slow, cocks his head to one side and then squints as he takes another step forward. He’s staring very pointedly at Izaya’s feet – strange, Izaya thinks, and he can’t even begin to make any guesses as to what Shizuo might be seeing there.

Thing is, Izaya still hates being trapped in this bed and this stupid brace and that wheelchair and how, even when Shizuo tries to move his legs around for him – keeping the muscles strong so that they don’t atrophy, he and that rude creep of an underground doctor explain – it’s obvious that Izaya’s not doing any of it on his own.

He used to make a conscious effort to move his legs, his toes. He used to worry about it constantly. Nothing ever happened and that was frustrating beyond belief, but he never stopped and it’s become something of a habit.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’s always trying.

“Your legs,” Shizuo breathes, and when he raises his gaze to look Izaya in the eyes, his face is like a little kid’s – Christmas morning, one-colored snow blanketing a soft pine smell and every array of twinkling lights.

“Try again,” he instructs, and Izaya almost asks what he means.

Really, it’s just because the trying has become so automatic. Because it’s been over a month since he’s really had to focus on it. That’s all – not because he’s used to relying on Shizuo, not because he’s accustomed to this and just barely almost kind of okay with waiting until his body’s perfectly ready to cooperate with him.

He’s been trying for a really long time, but he won’t deny now that he values his Shizu-chan almost more than he values the freedom to move.

He gets it, though. He gets it all at once and it’s pure shock disbelief fear and uncertain _joy_ – overwhelming so that his eyes fog up and he’s maybe going to cry if he doesn’t keep his response short.

“Sh-Shizu-chan…?” he hopes.

It’s response enough, anyway, and the blonde only nods once in return. The beginning of a smile twitches to life as he sits in front of Izaya and nudges the legs of his pants up above his knees – first one side, then the other – and indicates with little more than a look that the informant should go ahead.

He has to try hard to remember what it actually feels like to move his limbs like they belong to him. He has to close his eyes, has to focus so hard that his awareness of everything around him fades entirely to white noise and darkness…

“Yeah,” he hears Shizuo murmur wonderingly after a brief interval, “you really are…”

He laughs, then, and Izaya opens his eyes almost without meaning to. He doesn’t hear that sound often – not from Shizuo, anyway – and the accompanying look is almost so adorable that he forgets what it is he’s supposed to be paying attention to.

His foot.

Wait, can he – could he really have just felt that?

It’s funny, maybe, because it almost hurts. His muscles are tired, after all, his limbs still distant and mostly unreachable. It’s the same old thing – the feeling everything, paralysis included, so that his entire body sometimes aches with the need to move. Like wearing mittens for the first time in years and never failing to notice the way they make your hands tingle all the way up to your wrists.

“It’s not much,” he breathes. “I’m surprised you noticed at all, Shizu-chan. Especially at a distance.”

Shizuo’s grin widens further.

“I always check,” he admits, not sheepish at all, “just to make sure.”

**~**

The rehabilitation is as grueling as Shinra warned them it was likely to be. Izaya’s been pain-free for a while now, and as naïve as he probably was for hoping that it’d stay that way – well, he really kinda did. He really thought – wishful thinking, naturally – that it’d be okay, but Shizuo’s been telling him all along that it doesn’t matter _‘cause I’ll be right here to help, y’know, so – I mean, I know you’ll be pissed off and complaining all the time, but…_

_…at least it won’t be as bad…_

Just three days into Shinra’s so-called “special” rehab menu, Izaya can barely sleep for all that his legs and back hurt him so much. It worries Shinra – the idiot says that it shouldn’t be _that_ bad yet, just a little exhausting and certainly dispiriting – which it is, of course. Dispiriting. He’s made no progress, after all, or at least it’s no progress if progress is supposed to be more than relearning the tiniest movements of all ten toes.

(He’s tried to do more, but even when his muscles do respond to his will, they respond jerkily or not at all productively. He can feel them twisting around inside of him, throbbing and getting him nowhere.

That might be the worst part, actually. The pain is a secondary result of what really bothers him.)

He makes an honest effort to hide his stress from Shizuo, of course, but that endeavor’s just as pointless as it sounds. The brute notices pretty quick, but he doesn’t actually ask about it until later – hides behind curious glances and extra attention instead, because he’s not passive aggressive but he is passive _something_ and he’s probably not sure that he has the right to ask.

“It’s not your fault,” Izaya sighs. He almost doesn’t mean to say it aloud, but Shizuo turning back to glance at him again with dinner half-made already and the concerned expression that he wears so well – that does it.

“I – I know.” Shizuo defends himself first and secondarily thinks to ask what Izaya’s talking about.

“Um – wait. You don’t mean the pills…?”

The new ones, that is – the stronger ones, prescribed by Shinra to deal with a pain that hasn’t needed to be dealt with in weeks – but Shizuo’s straightforward question somehow manages to imply that he wants to know about Izaya, too. Izaya’s long, quiet sighs and buried anxiety. Izaya choking back frustration and despair and everything else that’s probably completely normal – healthy, even, but not the way he likes to handle it.

Izaya grins, leaning heavily on his elbows and actively trying to radiate whatever confidence he’s still holding on to.

“Yep,” he chirps, voice perfect sing-song without a hint of weakness.

Shizuo shakes his head. “Least I’m not really blaming myself.”

“It’s the same thing if you consider yourself the one and only cause, Shizu-chan. That’s not an objective fact, and I honestly don’t see the point in dwelling on it the way you do.”

Shizuo sighs, setting down the wooden spoon he’s been using to stir the whatever-it-is that smells so great – dinner in the works, post-rehab and therefore as pleasant as Shizuo can make it. He runs a hand through his hair and sighs once more before reluctantly nodding his agreement. “Yeah, I guess” – he pauses, glances up and then down – “Izaya, um – actually, I was –”

Izaya smiles. “Cat got your tongue?”

“N-no,” Shizuo stammers. “So – look, I just wanna know how you’re doing. You’re supposed to tell me when it starts to bother you.”

Izaya doesn’t remember making any promises like that, but right then it doesn’t matter and he’s not prepared to tease or argue.

“Not good,” Izaya admits, steeling himself as he does so for Shizuo’s reaction and trying not to let it show too much on his face. He doesn’t at all like the way that statement sounds coming from him, but he’s always sort of wanted to know what it’s like to hand control over to someone – no, not even that, because if he hasn’t yet done that then no one ever has – so maybe what he wants is to own up to another weakness, to get used to that and to trust Shizuo just a little more fully.

He wants to close whatever distance remains, but to do that…

“Not good at all,” he whispers – one more step, one more –

_“So help me, okay?”_

Shizuo wants to say something right then and there. Izaya can see it on his face and he comes really close to asking for the blonde to talk back, after all, but – but that’s not why he’s doing this and it’s way too late to clam up again now.

Shizuo knows that, maybe, so maybe that’s why he listens, instead, and maybe that’s why – why, just for once, Izaya finds plentiful words to fill a confession.

He feels like giving up, he says. He hates this. It’s starting to feel like he’ll never get anywhere at this rate, like maybe there was never any point in hoping and now the pain’s gonna be there forever, too.

He’ll never move again!

He’s gonna be a burden _even to you, Shizu-chan, and there’s no way you’ll put up with it forever –_ so maybe he’ll be left alone and no one to blame but himself and even then – nothing influencing him but everything irrational.

The fate he may or may not believe in.

When Izaya’s done talking – rambling, really, and while he doesn’t apologize, he’d almost like to – and Shizuo’s done listening and the space between them is long and quiet, Shizuo turns the stove off. He leaves their dinner to get cold and plops himself down in the chair directly beside Izaya’s.

He draws him into a hug, lets his fingers mess with the too-long hair where it’s had time to grow considerably. The touch feels good, and before long Izaya’s letting himself fall deeper into the embrace. He can smell Shizuo on all sides – the cigarettes, the citrus and that unidentifiable city smell that only clings to a select few in Ikebukuro.

“I can handle it,” the blonde promises, stupid the way he’s always been. “I’m strong.”

Izaya’s not into wondering about abstract concepts like love versus hate, the meaning of carrying the weight of another person or what it takes to change. He’s thought lots of times about routines and why it’s always so hard to break them, but time tells more than anything else that clear-cut situations can be sliced any number of other ways.

There’s always a new slant to things, after all, and if this one means trusting Shizuo as the bearer of his burden – because he didn’t leave, back then, didn’t have it in him even as convinced as Izaya once was that it was hate and only hate that drew them together – then Izaya’s more than okay with it.

Given the chance, maybe he’d even choose to fall again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well - there you have it! I apologize if it's a bit rough around the edges - I'm really not sure why I can't seem to get it out right this time, but I guess that's why feedback (especially constructive criticism) is so great! Thank you so much for reading and enduring the occasionally very long waits, guys, ~~and if you're following any of my other three ongoing stories, I apologize for what has been another long and pretty much unofficial hiatus. I'm going to try to get back to posting updates for all of those as soon as possible!~~
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> Thanks again for reading to the end! I really, really hope you guys enjoyed it!


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